


Our Sweet Rapture

by Chiyume



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Anal Sex, Angel Castiel, Angel Mating, Angel Wings, Angelic Grace, Baby Sam, Bisexual Dean, Bonding, Canon verse, Confused Dean, De-Aged Sam Winchester, Domestic Castiel/Dean Winchester, Dry Humping, Dubious Consent, Explicit Sexual Content, First Time, Fuck Or Die, Gay Sex, Grace Bonds, Grace Kink, Grace-Powered Orgasms, Loss of Grace, M/M, Mating Bond, Mildly Dubious Consent, Oral Sex, Pining, Pining Castiel, Psychic Bond, Season/Series 03 Spoilers, Season/Series 04 Spoilers, Season/Series 05 Spoilers, Sex, Sexual Content, Sexual Tension, Soul Bond, Telepathic Bond, Wing Grooming, Wing Kink, Winged Castiel, Wingfic, Wings, a man an angel and a baby
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-14
Updated: 2016-12-16
Packaged: 2018-07-15 01:02:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 19
Words: 189,415
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7199060
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chiyume/pseuds/Chiyume
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After a hunt gone wrong leaves Sam transfigured and Castiel drained of his grace, Dean is not only left to tend to them both, but for some reason also finds himself having involuntarily and graphically inappropriate thoughts about the angel in question. Now, if only Cas could stop getting so close to him all the time, maybe he could figure out what the hell was going on?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. 1

* * *

 

 

It was quiet.

The dark outline of the abandoned building was towering above them, casting its long, dark shadow over the yard. Silhouettes of feral bushes and deserted flowerbeds danced before their eyes when the cone of Dean’s flashlight swept over the premises, tracing along boarded shut windows as the two of them vigilantly advanced towards the porch.

“You sure this is the right place?” Sam gazed up towards the sealed windows on the second floor.  In response to his question, Dean simply pointed his torch to the door,where the light fell upon a single, bloodied handprint, smeared out across both the handle and door frame.

“Positive,” he grunted.

With a quiet glance at each other they both reached for the blades in their belts. The guns were useless; the drying blood by Dean’s hairline and the cut on Sam’s upper arm bearing silent witness to that.

Slowly, they crept up the steps of the front porch, noting the crimson stains covering the floor boards on their way up. Dean frowned.

“That’s a lot of blood…” he commented warily. “I thought you said that last cut missed?”

“It did,” Sam objected. “I mean… It felt like it did.”

“Well, at least now we know the bitch is capable of bleeding.”

Dean reached out to push the front door open, but Sam grabbed his arm and stopped him before he could reach it

“Hey. Shouldn’t we wait?” He threw a guarded glance over his shoulder. “Cas said he’d be back as soon as he could.”

“And risk losing track of her?” Dean snorted. “No way.”  

“We tracked her down once, Dean. We can do it again.”

Dean resolutely shook Sam’s large hand off as he raised his blade, pointing its tip at the door.

“No. We’re ending this now.”

Sam looked as if he was about to say something else, but meeting the defiant look from Dean’s eyes he simply sighed and took a step back, accepting the fact that caution would have to fold this time. Licking his lips, Dean nodded, swallowing hard.

“Alright then…”

The creak of the door was almost inaudible when they opened it, but the sound bounced off the bared surfaces of the empty house nonetheless. It echoed through the hallway, making both brothers cringe and grimace at the shrill noise.

It was pitch black inside; the light of the moon barely making its way through the few cracks and openings of the boarded windows. While their eyes adjusted to the dusk, the bright columns from their flashlights found more blood leading towards and up the staircase, both rail and wall soiled with bloodied stains.

The stairs only creaked slightly louder than the door had, yet they were more than loud enough to alert anyone residing on the upper floor that they were no longer alone in the house. Once up the ledge, they found that the hallway above branched out into two corridors, both leading in the opposite direction of the other. There were no traces of blood in either of them.

Sam looked at Dean, and Dean nodded back in silent agreement. They split up, Dean heading east while Sam slowly crept down the west hallway, their footsteps muffled by the stained old carpet on the floor.

Why was it so quiet anyway? Dean didn’t like it one bit, and he couldn’t shake the feeling that something was horribly, horribly wrong here. As if the roles of hunter and hunted had switched the second they pushed that damn front door open. He felt observed, the tiny hairs on the back of his neck standing up in wild attention as he moved forwards, and shit, he almost regretted that they hadn’t waited for Cas to come back before moving in.

The first door on his right led into what must have been a nursery once, judging by the colorful design of the wallpaper. He could see obscure shapes of ponies and flowers poking through the more obscene graffiti that had been sprayed on top of it over the years, leading him to guess that the room had most likely belonged to a little girl once.

The door to the closet was wide open, no uglies in there, and after a quick look around he could conclude that there were no signs of the enemy ever entering this room.

“Dean.”

Dean should be used to it by now, he knew that, but nonetheless he whirled around, blade cutting through the air, only to come to an absolute and abrupt halt when a hand closed around his lower arm in an iron grip.

Blue eyes regarded him calmly through the darkness, seemingly without any surprise of the violent greeting.

“Damn it, Cas!” Dean hissed, not sure whether he should be relieved by the sight of the angel, or pissed off over how jumpy he was. “How many times do I have to tell you not to _do_ that?”

The angel released his arm, but didn’t pay much attention to the berating tone of his voice. Instead his expression, which had looked so calm moments ago, shifted, a worried frown deepening on his brow as he looked around the room.

“Where’s Sam?” he demanded, making Dean scowl.

“Out in the hall.”

Castiel’s hand shot out and grabbed Dean by the hem of his jacket, yanking him forward.

“You split up?” He asked, voice lowered into a whisper, and Dean could only shrug in response as he did his best to ignore just how close their faces suddenly were.

“It’s not like we can’t take care of ourselves you know,” he defended himself, voice unconsciously lowering to match Castiel’s near nonexistent volume. “Why so tense, anyway? It’s just a grumpy old witch.”

“Is that what you think you’re hunting?” Castiel’s eyes narrowed at him, only to widen as he released the grip of Dean’s jacket, turning towards the door.

“We have to get you out, now.”

“Wait, Cas, hold on.” Dean’s hand clasped over the angel’s shoulder, stopping him in his tracks. “What the hell are you talking about?”

Castiel turned around once more, mouth open, but whatever he had been about to say died on his lips as his eyes locked on to the partially dried blood at Dean’s temple.

“You’re bleeding,” he noted quietly. Dean reached up, fingers brushing against the wound. Truth to be told, he had already forgotten that it was even there.

“I guess,” he agreed, absentmindedly. “But I’m still better off than that… witch, _thing_ , whatever it is. Sam managed to cut it open pretty good back at the school. Bitch screamed like crazy. It took some time, but we managed to trail her all the way back here.”

“You followed its blood?” Castiel squinted.

“Yeah,” Dean nodded. “I don’t know how the hell he got close enough, but Sam must’ve— Hey where are you going?”

Castiel was already heading out the door, not paying any attention to Dean’s question. Dean followed, catching up to the other man just a few paces down the outside hallway.

“Cas, c’mon man, what the hell—”

“There’s no time,” Castiel cut him off, leaning through a nearby doorway to throw a hurried glance into yet another empty room. “Where’s your brother?”

“I told you; he’s following the blood.”

Castiel turned around, and Dean swallowed hard when he saw the grim expression on the angel’s face.

“These creatures don’t bleed, Dean,” Castiel said gravely. “It’s been tricking you.”

Dean was just about to open his mouth to ask how the hell Cas could know that, when an ungodly shriek sliced through the air, followed by a loud crash from the west wing of the house.

“Sam!?”

Dean took off running, down the corridor towards the sound of breaking glass and more screaming from whatever that _thing_ was, leaving Castiel behind. He had just rounded the corner of the staircase when one of the doors in front of him suddenly flew open with a bang as Sam’s limp body came flying through the opening. He smashed against the opposite wall of the corridor with a crackling sound Dean wished he hadn’t heard, sagging down into a slack, unconscious pile on the floor.

“ _Sam!_ ”

Dean scrambled to his brother’s side, but before he managed to get close enough to see if Sam was even still alive, Castiel grabbed him by the back of his jacket. He tore him away, throwing Dean back into the hallway from whence he came.

“Get back!” he rumbled, stepping in front of Sam’s lifeless body. There was a deafening noise, like the crack of a whip, and through the broken door came a lightning bolt the size of a Buick, striking Castiel square in the back.

Whatever screams Castiel made got drowned out in the explosion that followed, leaving Dean feeling like his eardrums had just shattered. He watched in horror how the light closed around both Castiel and his brother in a sizzling sphere of sparking electricity, forcing him to throw a hand up in front of his face to shield his eyes from the blast.

Somewhere from inside the room the creature screeched in triumph, and Dean felt his stomach drop to his knees.

He tightened his fingers around the blade in his hand, preparing to fight with whatever strength he could muster when something inside his head, just behind his aching ears, popped.

For a split second everything else in the world was put on mute, and he felt rather than heard Castiel’s voice as it came drifting through his consciousness, calm and steady like the earth itself.

_Dean. Shut your eyes._

Not even thinking about objecting, Dean did as he was told, and then there was light _everywhere_.

It flooded the rickety building; blasted through every crack and crevice with frightening speed, purging it to the very core. The pulse it emitted mixed with Dean’s own, sending his heart racing inside his chest as his blood rushed through his veins, burning hot, and _sweet, merciful God_ , he could _feel_ it _all_. Drowning in the sensation, he barely heard the creature’s victorious cry change, first into disappointment, anger and then finally pain as the raw power of Grace burned it alive.

It lasted only a few seconds and then it was all gone, leaving Dean gasping for breath in the afterglow while panting and shaking furiously, feeling like he had just gotten every last bone in his body ripped out of him.

Forcing his trembling limbs to drag him towards the spot where he assumed the others to be, he tried to blink away the bright dots of gold and black that were dancing before his vision. He did not succeed, and the fear of what he would find when he reached the other end of the hallway sat like a block of cement inside his chest, weighing him down.

“Cas…?” he rasped, his voice barely audible. “Sam…?!”

“Dean…”

The voice came from somewhere to Dean’s left, and when he turned towards it he could see a familiar silhouette sitting propped up against the tattered wall.

“Cas…? Cas, are you alright?!”

He crawled to his feet and grabbed Castiel around the waist, supporting himself against the wall in order to hoist the other exhausted man to his feet.

“That was… harder than I anticipated…” Castiel groaned next to his ear, from what Dean could tell barely conscious. As he watched, blood began to trickle down the corner of Castiel’s mouth in a narrow trail.

“It’s okay, you’ll be fine,” Dean assured him, trying not to linger on the way Castiel’s eyes failed to focus on his face as he spoke. “You’ll be fine,” he repeated. “Just… let me grab Sam and then we’ll get the hell out of here.”

The body beneath Dean’s hands suddenly stiffened, and then it slumped down, worn and defeated.

“Sam…” Castiel whispered. “Dean, I— I’m so sorry… I tried…”

For an eternity, Dean’s world froze dead around him, because no.

No, not that, not Sammy…

_Not again._

His lungs drew together tight, his heart aching inside his chest, but just as he felt his knees begin to buckle beneath them both, a new, unfamiliar sound came drifting out from somewhere within Castiel’s trench coat. A low whimper, followed by a gurgle and a snort.

Bracing himself on Dean’s shoulder, Castiel shrugged the wide piece of clothing out of the way to reveal a small bundle made out of what Dean immediately recognized to be Sam’s jacket.

As Dean watched, two very, very small hands reached out and up towards his face, another one of those strange sounds emitting from inside the fabric.

“I tried…” Castiel repeated weakly, his voice filled with remorse as he held out the bundle for Dean to take. “But I couldn’t stop the curse completely.”  

With trembling hands Dean took the wrapped up jacket out of Castiel’s grip and looked down, warily folding the corner of the collar away so that he could see its content.

Bright blue eyes seemed to widen at the sight of him, and Dean could feel the world around him tilt, the wooden floor swaying beneath his feet.

“Sammy..?” he croaked in disbelief.

From within the jacket, the baby in his arms let out a shrieking, bubbling laugh, and then farted loudly.


	2. 2

Dean actually thought that he was doing a pretty good job at not freaking out. Had it not been for the part where he was  _ not _ supposed to be Freaking. The fuck. Out.

Castiel had blacked out on one of their motel beds the very moment they got back, injured, but alive, leaving Dean to deal with Baby Sam as best he could. ‘Dealing’ in this case being pacing back and forth across the room, trying his best not to look at the little bundle lying in the middle of the other bed.

“Alright, man, get a hold of yourself…” He dragged his hands across his face, trying to muster up some chi or whatever the hell those new age people called it. It didn’t take him long to realize that he wasn’t doing a very good job at that either, and he stopped, his eyes slowly drifting towards Castiel’s unmoving form on the second bed. 

The angel’s chest was rising and falling in a steady rhythm, fast asleep and completely out of commission. Had it been any other person, the sight of that stable respiratory movement would have been a relief, but when it came to Castiel, Dean knew that it actually meant the exact opposite.

The fact that Castiel needed to sleep at all meant that he was drained; now being completely out of angel juice, or at least having lost enough of it to stumble onto the very borders of humanity. Dean didn’t want to think about the consequences this night’s hunt could have had on the angel, but the thought made its unwelcomed entrance inside his head anyway, in spite of his protests.

_ What if he lost it all? _ it asked him.  _ What if the guy lying there is no longer an angel, but just an average joe? _

_ Stop it!  _  He ordered himself, but his mind just went on and on, pushing the panic closer and closer to the surface, kicking and screaming.

Because Castiel losing his grace wasn’t even half of it. What about his brother? What about  _ Sam _ ? What the hell happened to him? What was that thing in the house?! 

It seemed as if Castiel had known, but as long as he was out cold, Dean was left in the dark. Of course, they could always—

No, he corrected himself. Not they.  _ Dean _ could research on the internet. See what he could come up with. But where would he even start? 

Sure, he knew how to do research, he had done so many times before, but right now he felt completely aimless; as if he had suddenly forgotten how to even use a computer. All he could think of was that Sam would have known exactly what to look for, which search words to use. Sam had always been quicker, more exact. Sammy had always been the family brain when it came to the World Wide Web, not him. Not Dean.

On reflex he looked over at the bed where Baby Sam was still lying, for the moment completely lost within the task of trying to fit his left foot inside his mouth…

Dean didn’t know if he should laugh or cry. Instead he settled on simply sagging down onto one of the motel’s rickety kitchen chairs, pulling at his hair with an exasperated groan.

“We are so screwed…”

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\

It took three days before Castiel finally woke up, during which time, Dean was given plenty of opportunities to learn about the three fundamentals rules of parenthood.

One: Babies ate. Not much, but often. And when they didn't get to eat, they screamed.

Two: Babies pooped. And the more they ate, the more they pooped. And once they had pooped, they screamed.

Three: Babies slept, (thank God!) but if they didn’t get to sleep, they screamed. This part Dean could understand, but once they woke up  _ after _ they’d slept, they  _ continued  _ to scream.

He knew his brother had always been a cranky little bitch, but this was freaking ridiculous!

Also, to make matters even worse, it seemed as if both Sam’s intellect and communication skills alike had been completely reset to infant mode. At first Dean had attempted to make normal conversation with him—despite the fact that he probably sounded and looked incredibly stupid while doing so—but no matter what subject he tried, the only responses he got were a few gurgles and something that he was sure Cas would have referred to as “sly gastronomic emissions”.

It had dawned on him sometime during the first few hours of getting back that he would have to leave the motel room in order to get food and supplies. Not just for him, but especially for Baby Sam, who was in need of a whole new wardrobe, amongst other things. 

So once Sam was asleep, safe and sound inside Dean’s duffel bag, which had been temporarily promoted to baby crib, he drove the car to the nearest convenience store. Once there, he then proceeded to fill an enormous cart with basically anything that had a baby or cartoon character on the label, just to be safe. 

He had gotten some pretty weird looks from the female cashier behind the counter, but after having fired off one of his dazzling Winchester-smiles and given her a half-assed excuse that involved a darling, but forgetful wife, she seemed to have swallowed the story without even a second thought. 

Twenty minutes later, he was back with his two sleeping companions at the motel once more, and once all the diapers, baby food jars and talc powder jugs had been carried inside, Dean resolutely threw himself onto the free bed and promptly fell asleep.

A few hours later, he jackknifed off the mattress, gun already in hand while his eyes darted around the room in search of the flesh eating monster that without a doubt must be the origin of the horrible noise cutting into his ears. 

It wasn’t until his gaze fell on Cas that the events of last night came crashing back into his memory. That his brother had been turned into an infant by some witch-impersonating freak, and that his best friend had blown basically everything but his very last fuse while trying to prevent it. That, and that the smaller of the previously mentioned two was currently crying like there was no tomorrow from inside the duffel bag on the floor. 

Quickly tucking his gun back underneath the pillow, Dean strode over to the bag and picked his brother up. He was just about to cradle him against his chest to comfort him when he abruptly changed his mind, stretching his arms out to hold the screaming infant as far away from himself as he could manage.

“Aw, dude!” 

In his arms, Sam didn’t seem to take any notice about the reprimanding tone of his voice, the screams growing louder by the second.

Dean looked over at Cas, sending him a silent prayer to wake up and magically mojo away the mess his brother had made, but the angel didn’t move as much as a finger.

Sighing, he gave his brother’s makeshift towel-diaper a little sniff across the distance of his outstretched arms.

“Aw man,” he grimaced. “That’s just not normal.”

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\

Dean wished that he could say that feeding his brother went much better than getting him to sleep had gone, but unfortunately, he couldn’t. 

He gave it his best, he really did, but the chu-chu-train technique that always worked in the movies obviously did not work with Sam. Hell, Dean even sunk to the low of eating the squashed goo from inside the jar himself, just to convince his brother of how good it tasted. 

Of course, it would probably have helped if he hadn’t churned out his first spoonful onto the floor, but he hadn’t really expected it to taste  _ that _ bad. Despite all his efforts, he only managed to get Sam to eat approximately three spoonfuls until he finally gave up. 

“I don’t get it,” he complained loudly. “You’re a baby—this is baby food.” He held up the sticky jar and pointed to the label adorned with the face of a laughing child. 

“See that? That means that you’re supposed to _ like _ this stuff. Do you enjoy being hungry, is that it?”

Sam looked back at him, dubious looking gunk smeared all over his puffy cheeks and with something Dean could only describe as defiance gleaming in his eyes. 

“Alright, then.” He got up from the chair and resolutely stalked up to the kitchen counter, opened the bottom cabinet and demonstratively threw the more than half full jar into the bin.

“There, now what do you have to say about that?” he asked triumphantly. Sam’s response was to stare at him, mouth gaping open, looking absolutely devastated. Slowly, slowly his face began to crumple up, growing increasingly redder and darker until he looked as if he was about to either sneeze or poop himself. Then he started crying.

“Oh, c’mon! You didn’t even want to look at it two seconds ago!”

When Sam’s only reply was to increase the volume, Dean swiped another jar from the counter and wrenched the lid off with poorly concealed aggravation. Perhaps, if he was incredibly lucky, the airplane technique would prove itself more effective than the train technique had.

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\

Three days after the events at the abandoned house, Dean returned to the motel room after a quick escape to the fast food court down the street, only to find Castiel sitting crouched over the duffel bag on the floor.

The sight of him sent a flash of relief through Dean’s chest, but he still managed to keep his cool as he sauntered through the door, his freshly made BLT sandwich in a tight grip of his hand.

“Well, if it ain’t sleeping beauty?” Dean drawled, earning him a confused look from the angel on the floor.

“I doubt that my features become more or less attractive during sleep, Dean,” he said, the reference going right over his head as usual. And, as usual, he also managed to twist and turn Dean’s pop culture reference into something completely different.

Dean felt the tip of his ears heat up when he realized that it sounded as if had just been called out on referring to Castiel as ‘beautiful’.

“Uh… right,” he agreed, looking away. “Never mind then.” He cleared his throat. “How about you, you feeling any better?”

“I believe so, yes.”

Dean let out a relieved sigh, shoulders slumping.

“Aw, man, that’s great!” He gestured to the laptop on the kitchen table. “I’ve been trying, I really have, but I still haven’t figured out a way to turn Sammy back. I could really use your help.”

This time it was Castiel’s turn to sigh, although he just sounded tired, and not relieved at all.

“Dean, I said I was feeling  _ better _ , not that I was well. Besides…” he looked down at the baby in front of him. “We won’t be able to do anything to help Sam today, or tomorrow for that matter.”

Dean lowered the half eaten sandwich, dread reaching through his chest with icy cold tendrils.

“What do you mean?” he asked. “He’s not…  _ stuck _ that way, is he?” 

Castiel began to stand from his position on the floor, but halfway up he stumbled backwards and fell hard against the edge of the bed, grappling at the covers for support. 

Dean hurried to his side, temporarily mourning the remaining pieces of his food as it spilled across the floor when he let it go in favor of helping the other regain his balance. Even though he knew that Castiel would probably have preferred to do it himself, he also helped him up onto the mattress, where the angel laid himself down with a low groan. 

“Dude,” Dean breathed, looking down at the other’s wearied face. “What the hell happened to you back there, at the house? What  _ was _ that thing?”

Castiel groaned again, but Dean concluded it was probably more from the memory than from any physical discomfort.

“A Grýla,” the angel muttered under his breath, grimacing. Dean frowned.

“What’s a Grýla?”

“Monsters that feed upon the corpses of dead infants.”  

“Oh…” Dean swallowed. “Yummy.”

Castiel sighed and leaned his head back against the headboard with a low thump.

“This one apparently decided to move on to living prey a few weeks ago—that’s why we couldn’t figure out what it was. That, and the fact that the entire race is supposed to be nearly extinct by now.” 

The angel glanced down at the duffel bag on the floor.

“Though I must say, I never suspected it to be bold enough to go after a fully grown man…” 

“I still don’t get it,” Dean said, growing impatient. “What did she do to Sammy? Because that  _ was  _ a she; there’s no way a rack like that belonged to a dude.”

Castiel shot him a weird look, but apparently he didn’t have the energy it would take to ask what Dean meant by that comment. Instead he leaned back and closed his eyes, as if contemplating what he was supposed to say before he opened his mouth anew.

“The Grýla race reproduces itself by biting other creatures, injecting poison,” he started. “As the victims turn, they inhabit and adapt to the qualities of their attacker, sparing certain traits of themselves deemed valuable for survival in the process. It’s the evolution of a species sped up thousands of years in a single bite.” He sighed again, the dim look in his eyes alerting Dean that the other was about to drift back to sleep again.

“This witch you found…” Castiel continued drowsily. “Or rather; the witch you  _ thought _ you found… There was something odd about her… So I went to investigate and I found—” 

He cut himself off, his eyelids fluttering.

“You found what?” Dean prompted, reaching out to put a worried hand over the angel’s shoulder. “Cas?”

Castiel’s breath hitched, eyes flying open. For a moment they stared blankly at him, disoriented, but then they focused, locking onto Dean’s face once more.

“A witch was bitten by a Grýla three states south, three months ago…” he grated. “A very powerful one. Combined with her knowledge and all her powers— The transformation became too strenuous and… she needed to feed… Still too weak—” 

He shuddered out a breath, his entire body shaking with it. 

“The curse she threw on Sam… It  _ is _ breakable, we just—“

His voice was beginning to drift away, blue eyes fighting to stay open in order to meet with Dean’s green ones.

“I’m so tired, Dean…” Cas whispered. “My Grace… it’s…”

_ Oh lord, here it comes. _

Castiel reached up to clasp at the hand resting on his shoulder, and it cut through Dean’s very soul to feel how weak the once so strong grip felt.

“Time… I need time…” he panted.

Dean nodded, swallowing hard as he watched Castiel’s eyes slide shut completely.

“It’s okay,” he assured him. “You just need to rest. We’ll have you flapping around again in no time, you’ll see.”

The hint of annoyance that ghosted across Castiel’s face at Dean’s choice of words felt reassuring, but Dean couldn’t shake the weight in his chest as he watched the angel sigh once more and fall asleep; his hand still clutching around Dean’s with discouragingly feeble fingers.

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\

Progress went slow, but as the days passed, Castiel woke up more and more often and managed to stay awake for increasingly longer periods of time. 

He was weak, absolutely, but he assured Dean that his grace was not gone, simply diminished, and that it would regenerate itself in due time. For now, however, he was extremely and uncomfortably restricted. 

He could not, for example, zap himself anywhere—not even from one corner of the room to the other. His superhuman strengths were gone as well, along with his ability to heal wounds. 

He still didn’t require food, and apparently he could still read minds—something Dean had found out the hard way when he had mentally compared the angel to a discharged battery. The silent comment had not gone down well, and Dean had been forced to withstand sullen glares and testy comments from the other throughout the rest of the day. 

Apparently, the loss of Castiel’s grace had quite the effect on the angel’s usual divine tolerance towards human behaviour, and his crabbiness was causing him to pick up a few bad habits of his own in the process.  

For example, he had begun to return every other of Dean’s arguments with sarcastic remarks during their disagreements. Hell, Dean was surprised to find that the angel even knew what sarcasm  _ was _ , even less how to use it properly. But after the angel more than a few times over had successfully managed to render Dean’s comebacks into stuttering incoherencies that did nothing whatsoever to strengthen his authority on the matter, he was growing pretty darn sick of it. 

It was annoying, and Dean couldn’t help but feel as if having a grumpy angel on top of a cranky baby brother wasn’t the most optimal surrounding for him at the moment.

Castiel had already confirmed to Dean once more that the curse on his brother  _ could _ be broken, and that it actually wasn’t even that hard to do… It was just a matter of  _ when _ .

“A MONTH!?” Dean blurted out, hacking and coughing violently from the hot coffee he had just managed to choke on. Castiel granted his sputtering an indifferent look.

“We’re lucky it’s not further away.”

“You have got to be kidding me!”

Sighing and pushing himself off the counter he had been leaning on, Castiel strode over to the kitchen table and sat down, facing Dean.

“It has to be done during the lunar eclipse,” he explained, once again. “We have no choice but to wait.”

“You mean I’m supposed to leave my brother stuck like that for a frickin’  _ month _ ?”  Dean gestured towards the bed where Sam was sleeping in his brand new, baby blue creepers, quietly for once. Dean had no idea babies could snore, but as they already knew, Sam wasn’t like any normal baby.

“Yes,” Castiel answered simply.

“I can’t do that,” Dean deadpanned. He got up from his chair and began pacing around the room, chewing on his knuckles as he went.

“Dean, there is no other—”

“No, I mean, I  _ can’t do it _ , Cas.”

He stopped mid step and turned towards Castiel, pointing a harsh finger at the bed.

“He’s my brother,” he said. “My adult, overgrown,  _ Sasquatch _ of a brother. He’s completely helpless, and you’re telling me that all we can do is wait? I can’t  _ wait _ , Cas. I _ won’t! _ ”

The last word came out much louder than he had intended, and on the bed Sam immediately started crying from the sudden change in volume. Dean threw his arms up over his head, groaning in exasperation.

“Oh, perfect,” he snarled. “That’s great. Now he’ll never stop!” 

With a reprimanding glare that clearly told Dean to stop behaving like such a child, Castiel got up from the chair and pushed past him. Leaning over the bed, he picked the crying infant up, to which Dean sighed ruefully.

“No, no, just leave him; you’ll just make things wo—”

Not taking any heed to Dean’s protests, Cas raised Sam from the bed and proceeded with cradling him against his shoulder. The child sniffled, and then settled down with four chubby fingers shoved inside his mouth, looking over at Dean with big, blue, innocent eyes.

“You were saying?”

Was it just him, or did Castiel actually sound  _ smug _ ?

“Fine,” he glowered. “Then  _ you _ get to be Mr. Mom from now on.”

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\

To Dean’s annoyance, it turned out that Cas was actually pretty good at the whole baby-tending thing. It simply seemed as if there wasn’t any crying or temper tantrum that the angel couldn’t fix by simply picking Sam up and carrying him around for a bit. 

Dean highly suspected that the other was using his mind reading abilities to figure out exactly what the problems were before they even started, but when it came down to it, Dean didn’t care. Sam was quiet, and that automatically equalled a happy Dean. Though it wouldn’t hurt if Cas would stop being such a know-it-all about it.

“I still don’t understand why you get to pick him up, but when I do he just starts screaming,” Dean sulked from the sofa. He mindlessly flipped the channels of the TV with the remote while Castiel and Sam took another turn around the room; the angel’s blue tie in a firm grip between Sam’s tiny fingers, covered in drool from its recent session inside the baby’s mouth.

“You have cold hands,” Castiel answered simply, patting the child on the back. “And you always look angry.”

“I do not look  _ angry _ …” Dean huffed.

“Yes you do. You should try smiling more. Your face is prettier when you smile.”

“Dude…” Dean snorted, but he could literally feel his ears heat up as the other’s words made impact with his brain. 

It was strange how he, Dean Winchester, was able to take any kind of inappropriate innuendos from basically any female on the planet without as much as a twitch of his eye. Yet all Cas had to do was to drop a simple line about his face to make said body part go all flushed and glowing red. 

“You asked, Dean.”

Dean took another swig out of his beer before resolutely standing up, accepting the challenge.

“You know what, I’m gonna prove that this has nothing to do with any of that stuff. Here…”

He warmed his hands by rubbing them hard together for a moment, and then he gestured for Castiel to hand Sam over.

“Smile,” the angel ordered, and even though he first made an eye roll to the ceiling, Dean still complied, giving off a somewhat strained grin.

Sam, wide eyed as usual, first seemed reluctant to give up his grip on Castiel’s tie, but Castiel still managed to pass him over to Dean without causing as much as a whimper.

Dean didn’t know if he should feel triumphant over the fact that he was finally able to hold his baby brother without going deaf, or pissed about the fact that Cas had been right, again. After some careful contemplation he decided to go with the first option.

“Alright, so maybe I have cold hands…” he muttered, not knowing which pair of blue eyes that made him more flustered to look at; Sam’s big, innocent globes, or Cas’s mirthfully gleaming ones.

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\

Once Castiel was well enough to travel, they packed up the Impala and got back on the road. They were heading to Bobby’s, seeing as a motel room wasn’t to be considered an appropriate environment for a baby, and the very thought of baby puke on the seats of his Baby made Dean shudder to the core.

The phone call to Bobby had been brief. Dean hadn’t lingered on any details, since just talking about the situation made it feel so much worse somehow. Bobby had responded to Dean’s explanation with his usual get-a-fucking-grip-voice—the one he always used when the brothers had screwed something up—and ended the call with a “just take care of your brother, Idjit.” 

When Dean hung up the phone, he shot a glance at his brother, who was once again sleeping inside Dean’s duffel bag, which had been tightly secured with seatbelts in the backseat.

“Okay. So a month, huh?” he stated loudly.

“26 days from today, to be exact,” Castiel mumbled from the passenger seat. Apparently the short trip from the motel door to the car had been more than enough to make him want to doze off again.

“Fantastic…” Dean mumbled. “Well, in that case I guess we’re going to have to make a quick stop on the way…”

The ‘quick stop’ involved over an hour of disoriented shopping in the baby department at the nearest shopping center. Dean walked up and down the aisles, filling up their cart with various things he had not had the presence of mind to buy during his first panicked shopping spree a few days before. 

His latest findings included a baby nest, which could replace the duffle bag as a bed, some pacifiers, and a few toys. He plucked the items off the shelves with typical Winchester-like efficiency, while Castiel unhurriedly followed behind with Sam perched in his arms.

“He doesn’t want that one,” he commented matter-of-factly when Dean threw a yellow baby carrier for the car into the pushcart.

“What?” Dean asked.

“He doesn’t like the color.” 

A woman standing a few feet behind them gave the couple a curious look and an endearing smile. Dean politely returned it before turning back to Cas with a glare.

“He’s a  _ baby _ , what the hell does he care about what color it is?” he hissed.

“Do you _ want _ him to scream all the way to Sioux Falls?” 

The blunt way Castiel said it made Dean want to gnash his teeth with frustration.

“Fine, whatever…” he scoffed. “Which one  _ does _ he want then?” 

Castiel pointed to a chair identical to the one Dean had picked out; only this one was bright red. Dean switched the two and held the new one out for evaluation, and an approving gurgle was heard from somewhere behind the silk of Castiel’s tie.

“He likes it,” Castiel decided.

“Yeah, yeah, as long as he shuts the fuck up,” Dean muttered, not caring about the appalled gasp that came from the woman beside them.

“Are you hungry again?” Castiel asked, tilting his head at him.

“No, I’m not hu—Who are you, my nanny?”

“We should probably buy some food before we leave,” Castiel continued, ignoring the question. “Sharing the car with you is not very pleasant when you haven’t eaten for a while.”

“Well then why don’t you just  _ fly  _ to Bobby’s if it’s such a bother?” Dean muttered under his breath.

Castiel blinked, taken aback for a moment, and then Sam let out a quiet sob against the lapel of the angel’s trench coat.

“That was uncalled for,” Castiel replied quietly, and Jesus Christ, Dean couldn’t have felt guiltier if he had just kicked a puppy. A  _ sick  _ puppy. A sick,  _ homeless _ puppy.

“Sorry, man…” He scratched at his neck before giving the other a repentant smile. “Guess I do need something to eat after all…” 

Castiel looked at him for a moment, and then he nodded, seeming pleased.

“Apology accepted.” 

As if on cue, Sam stopped snivelling, and Dean couldn’t help but suspect that the two were slowly starting to team up against him. The thought made him feel like he should be worried…  

They made their way back to the checkout, where Dean began unloading their stuff for the female cashier by the register to scan. The girl, who according to her nametag was named Sarah, looked at the trio and smiled. Dean cringed. He knew that smile. After three years of hitting up motels with his brother he had seen it enough times to recognize the traits.

“Aww, doesn’t he look cute,” she cooed, looking at Sam before turning to Castiel. “What’s his name?”

“Sam,” the angel answered truthfully.

“How old is he?”

“28.”

Dean almost dropped an entire box of fermented milk onto the floor.

“Oh…” Sarah obviously didn’t know how to respond to that information, Castiel’s face being as serious as always.

“He’s talking about weeks,” Dean cut in. “Sam is 28 weeks. Right,  _ honey _ ?”

Castiel looked at him as if he suddenly grown an extra head.

“Exactly… 28 weeks…” He squinted, searched for an appropriate word. “Darling..?”  

“That’s so sweet,” the girl crooned, tilting her head towards Sammy. “Your Daddy and Daddy are almost as adorable as you are, aren’t they?”

Dean could feel his ears begin to heat up,  _ again _ , and he hurriedly continued unloading the shopping cart while Castiel stood there, looking from Sarah to Dean with a confused expression on his face. As if he was having a hard time figuring out what was happening.

After what felt like hours, Dean was finally allowed to collect the heap of bags that were waiting at the end of the counter, and then the trio began heading for the exit.

“Bye, Sam!” the girl called out after them, waving as the automatic doors closed behind them.

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\

“Dean.” 

Castiel stood beside the car while Dean loaded the trunk up with their stuff, still with the same puzzled expression on his face. 

“Is this new usage of affectionate name-callings going to be a habit?”

Dean slammed the trunk closed, a teddy bear’s arm still partially sticking out like a silent cry for help.

“Well, hopefully we won’t have to deal with that many people from now on,” he deadpanned. “So, no.”

Castiel seemed to contemplate this for a moment.

“Then why did you want to give the girl the impression that we were… lovers?” he asked, perplexed. Dean shrugged.

“I don’t know, it just sorta slipped out.” He began walking around to the front of the car. “Ever since the hell gate opened, you can never be too sure about who’s listening in, and spreading the word about what happened to Sam—or you, for that matter—didn’t seem like a good idea to me.”

The angel nodded, from the looks of it accepting his explanation, and Dean let out a relieved breath at what seemed to be the end of the conversation. Too soon, as it proved.

“Because,” Castiel said, as if he was preparing to recite a very important notice. “If we are going to keep up appearance as a couple, it is in my opinion that we should establish some form of guidelines for the demeanours of our relationship.”

“Oh, c’mon…” 

“It’s not an uncommon thing Dean,” Castiel objected. “People are bound to notice if we don’t act sincere. And, contrary to what many of you humans think, it’s not a sin either,” he added, taking place in the passenger seat as Dean jumped in behind the wheel.

“Well, I’m sure a lot of people will be positively  _ thrilled  _ to hear about that,” Dean muttered. 

He turned on the ignition and drove out of the parking lot, in  _ his  _ opinion finished with the discussion. To his right, however, Castiel showed no signs of growing tired of the topic.

“I just can’t seem to grasp why you people insist on concentrating all of your affections onto someone’s physical appearance. The soul is what makes a human; that’s where your attention should be aimed,” he pondered loudly, making Dean snort.

“Seriously?” he challenged. “You can’t possibly tell me that appearance doesn’t matter to you. Remember that brothel I took you to?”

Castiel’s lips pinched together, forming a thin, displeased line.

“Vividly,” he muttered.

“Yeah?” Dean prompted. “Then you know what I’m talking about. I saw the way you looked at that girl,” he added with a sly grin. 

“I was nervous,” Castiel huffed. “I would have reacted the same way with anyone.” 

“Anyone?” Dean asked perplexed. “You mean ‘anyone’ as in a dude?”

“Anyone,” Castiel repeated, without clarifying his statement further.

“So basically what you’re telling me here is that you’re, what—bisexual?”

“You’re trying to label me, Dean.” Castiel tilted his head and looked at him. “I have no specific sexual orientation that I know of, because, like I’ve told you before, I have never had occasion, or reason, to explore it.”

“Hey, I haven’t exactly putted every hole on the course either, but I’ve never been hesitant to where my preferences lie.”

“And you say that with such confidence…” Castiel’s eyes shifted back to the road and Dean turned his head to frown at him.

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

The angel didn’t answer. Instead, all Dean got was a tired sigh, and then the angel was fast asleep once more.  

“Coward,” Dean muttered, trying not to think about how hot his cheeks felt, or how his gut tingled in that weird way it always did whenever Castiel started talking about stuff like that. 

Why did he always have to talk about it anyway? Couldn’t he just let it go when Dean asked him to? That way Dean wouldn’t have to find himself in these kinds of situations. With butterflies in his stomach and a face blushing ten shades of red beneath that infuriating, blue stare that pierced through fucking  _ everything _ ! 

He threw a glance at the backseat through the rearview mirror to where Sammy was sleeping in his brand new carrier, the straps of the baby chair resolutely tied into a big, jumbled bow on the front of his belly. Apparently Cas’s talent with children didn’t extend to the mechanics of a seatbelt, something that Dean could not help but smile at.

“Alright…” he sighed, eyes returning to the road ahead. “26 days it is, then…”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And what a month it will be... ;)
> 
> Thank you so, so much, you guys, I'm blown away by all the support you've been giving me and this fic. It's just been up for a few days and the response has been amazing! <3  
> Feel free to tell me what you think about it so far in a comment, or strike up a conversation with me on tumblr if you like, I'm all ears! :)
> 
> Until next chapter, darlings! Take good care of yourselves! <3


	3. 3

The day went by with the same speed one would expect when spending most of it crammed inside a car with a graceless angel and cursed baby brother. 

Of course, Dean was used to driving for long periods of time, and judging by the minimal fuss Sam made back in his seat, he wasn’t bothered by the long hours either.

However, Castiel, as it turned out, was very evidently  _ not _ accustomed to this form of travelling. 

Sure, he had hitched a ride with the brothers every now and then in the past, but those moments had been brief and always followed by his favorite disappear-into-thin-air-act. He had never been forced to actually endure several hours of intense staring at a road before. 

And now, when his lack of grace had more or less completely humanized him, he didn’t have much of a choice. Only two hours after the beginning of their journey, Castiel—who Dean up until that point had assumed to be asleep—suddenly straightened up in his seat, gripping for the door handle.

“We have to pull over.” 

Dean turned to him, the question of why already hanging from his lips when he spotted the pale color on the other’s face.

“Oh, no… No, no, no…!” He tore the car onto the side of the road, hitting the brakes with a horrified stare. “Don’t you dare throw up in here, you hear me? Don’t you  _ dare! _ ”

His order turned out to be completely unnecessary, seeing as Cas was already halfway out of the car before it even had come to a complete halt, coughing and choking with one hand covering his mouth.

Dean got out and looked on as the once so mighty Angel of the Lord who had dragged his sorry ass out of the pits of Hell coughed and retched until Dean half expected to see him spit his own lungs out in the ditch.

“You have got to be kidding me…” he groaned. “An angel with car sickness.” 

Since Castiel’s stomach was so empty that it probably echoed inside it already, the task of throwing up was finished exceedingly fast. When he was done, Cas wiped himself across the mouth with the back of his hand and spat onto the ground once, trying to get rid of the acid taste in his mouth.

“Feeling better?” Dean raised a brow at him, arms crossed over his chest. In return he received a heated, although slightly glazed over, glare.

“You could have asked me to stop earlier, you know,” Dean pointed out, but Castiel waved him off.

“The sooner we get there…” he grated hoarsely.

“I don’t get it. You fly across the world in less than a second, how can riding in a car possibly make you sick?”

“Exactly…” Castiel straightened up. “The speed at which I travel is beyond human conception. This…” He waved towards the car with a disgusted face, and Dean glared a warning at him. 

“…  _ vehicle _ ,” the angel ended carefully, catching the look. “Is simply going too slow.”

Dean gave a sceptical snort. 

“Too  _ slow _ ?” he asked incredulously, only to receive a sour glare in return. 

“Whatever.” Dean sighed, throwing his hands dejectedly into the air. “As long as you’re good to go. You can still ride the car, right? I’m not gonna have to go out and buy you a freakin jetpack or something?”

“I’m fine… I just—” Cas cut himself off, bringing a hand halfway up to his mouth as if he was about to hurl again, but then he simply swallowed, grimacing. “I just need some time to grow accustomed to the velocity.”

Dean licked his lips. For some reason, the thought of a jetpack seemed like a better idea.

They got back inside the car and Cas slumped into his seat with a groan, closing the door. Dean threw him a worried glance, not too enthusiastic about the prospect of getting angel-puke all over his dashboard.

“Hey. You sure you gonna be okay?” 

Castiel sighed, closed his eyes, and groaned again.

“Just  _ drive _ , Dean.”

/\/\/\/\/\/\

Four hours later, Castiel threw in the towel. After having clawed himself out of the ditch for the tenth time that day, he had gotten back inside the car and basically ordered Dean to stop at the first motel they could find.

“How anybody would willingly choose to travel in this manner is beyond my comprehension,” he grumbled, clutching Sam in his arms while Dean got their stuff out of the trunk.

“First thing tomorrow, we’re getting you a bucket,” Dean declared in heated agreement. He threw Sam’s backpack over his shoulder and resolutely grabbed hold of his own bag before locking the car. 

The motel wasn’t the best of joints, but it certainly wasn’t the worst. It looked nice, clean, and the receptionist had greeted them with a smile that would have been worthy of Miss America. Dean should have known that there was going to be something wrong with it.

“What the  _ hell? _ ” he choked as soon as they walked into the room to which they had been accommodated.

Castiel leaned around him in order to see what his sudden outburst was referring to, but didn’t seem to detect anything out of the ordinary.

“What’s the matter?” he asked, hoisting the sleeping baby higher onto his shoulder.

“What, the puking made you go blind?” Dean asked with a wide gesture to the room.

Castiel looked around for a moment, trying his best to find whatever it was that made his roommate so upset.

“I see a kitchen…” he said vaguely. “I see a table with chairs, a television set, a closet, a bed—”

“Exactly!” Dean exclaimed. “ _ A _ bed. As in  _ one _ !” 

“That’s what’s bothering you?” Castiel asked, confused. “We  _ are _ posing as a couple, Dean. Sharing a bed is perfectly normal.”

“I know that!” Dean answered with ears red as lanterns. Then he groaned, although it could just as well have been a growl.

“I’m going to ask for a room change,” he announced with earnest, turning around to head back out the door.

“It won’t fit with our cover,” Cas pointed out, to which Dean stopped, threw a death glare at the ceiling and then tossed both of the bags onto the floor with a low snarl. He swore,  _ this fucking day…! _

“Great! Fine.” He buried his face in his hands, rubbing the palms against his skin before straightening up, taking a deep, controlled breath.

“Alright. It’s cool, no biggie. I’ll just take the couch. You can have the bed—since you’re not feeling well and all.” He moved to pick up the bags again, but a discreet cough from Castiel stopped him in his tracks.

“Dean.” The oldest Winchester threw an annoyed glare over his shoulder.

“What?” 

Castiel slowly turned to look around the room before he shifted back to face Dean’s glowering once more.

“There is no couch.” 

Dean blinked dumbly and he whirled around, staring at the room in disbelief, letting out a pathetic little wincing sound when he discovered that the angel was indeed right. 

The only furniture of notice was the large queen-sized bed that was currently taking up his entire field of vision; like an ominous predator lying in wait, disguised as a vulgar, flower embroidered bedspread. 

He turned back to Castiel, who had watched his reaction in complete silence while cradling Sam against his chest, patting the baby softly on the back. He appeared completely indifferent to the fact that they would have to share the bed, and the look he sent Dean from across the room had Dean swallowing down his frustration with a tight clench of his jaw.

“You better not snore...” he warned grimly, pointing at the angel with an aggravated index finger. Castiel, in turn, only met the glare with calm, unreadable eyes. 

/\/\/\/\/\/\

Two hours later, when the sun was long gone behind the horizon, Dean was brushing his teeth in the bathroom. The sound of rushing water echoed between the walls while he listened to the soft padding of Castiel’s feet as the other paced around the room outside, trying to get Sam to fall asleep. In the mirror Dean could see glimpses of the angel as he walked past the partially open bathroom door, still dressed in his trench coat and with his face bent down over the baby in his arms.

It was surprisingly gratifying to see how well the angel had taken to his new domestic role as adoptive parent, but even more so how well it seemed to suit him. If it hadn’t sounded so weird, Dean would have said that Castiel  _ liked _ posing as a father. 

Even though there were times, like with the seat belt, when Castiel’s lack of knowledge about human technologies slowed him down slightly—figuring out how to get Sam untangled from the seat had taken its fair time for example—but no matter how troublesome it were, he always dealt with Sam in that same, calm manner as he did everything else. Like now, Dean could swear that somewhere underneath that mysterious, noble surface, Castiel was actually enjoying himse— 

Turning off the faucet, Dean suddenly stilled, ears perking up.

A low-pitched murmur was drifting in through the open door; a timbre tone that reverberated between the tiled surfaces of the bathroom in the faintest of whispers. It wound its way down Dean’s spine in a delicate little shiver, and it actually took Dean more than just a few moments to realize what it was he was listening to.

Castiel was singing.

Or humming, to be exact, but Dean could still hear words weave themselves in and out of the melody, only not any that he could identify.

Curiosity peaking, he sneaked up to the door and peered through the cranny at the odd couple outside. Sammy was already asleep, but Cas was still wandering around the room while singing softly to the little bundle in his arms. His voice was as deep as always, but rich and velvety in a way that Dean had never heard it before; less tired somehow. 

The mysterious words rolled off his tongue in a way that was so smooth it left no doubt that this was indeed Castiel’s native language, as ancient and powerful as the heavens itself. They made the hair on Dean’s arm stand up, and he shivered again in spite of himself as the melody snaked its way into every fiber of his body, heating it up and turning his mind dizzy just trying to keep up with the changing sound of Castiel’s voice.

He kept watching, not really noticing the smile that had plastered itself over his face until the song suddenly ended and the smile got replaced with a displeased frown. It was a shame, he had actually liked listening to that song. Then Castiel shot him a glance over the shoulder, not seemingly surprised over the fact that Dean was there watching.

“In case you were wondering, it is a very old lullaby,” he said, bending down to carefully place Sam in his new carrier. Dean pushed the bathroom door fully open, leaning against the door frame with a smirk.

“I kind of figured,” he said. “Enochian, huh?”

“Yes.”

Cas began to stand up, but halted himself as he realized that his tie was still tightly clutched between Sam’s tiny fingers. After a moment of contemplation he loosened the tie around his neck and carefully pulled it over his head to hang it over the carrier handle.

“What’s it about?” Dean asked.

“It teaches us to love life… and everything in Father’s creation,” Castiel said, still looking at Sam. “It’s usually only sung to small children and newborns, but considering Sam’s condition I found it… fitting.”

Dean chuckled.

“Damn, Cas. I never would have picked you for the musical type.”

Castiel tilted his head, and a hint of suspicion ghosted across his features.

“You find this amusing,” he stated, an indignant frown appearing on his face. Dean threw his hands up in defense.

“Hey, if it makes Baby Sam quiet and happy, I say sing your heart out.”

Castiel looked down at Sam, who was lying innocent and asleep in his carrier, snuggled up tightly with the end of Castiel’s tie pressed against his cheek. 

“He’s not so bad,” he objected, and his lips quirked in a faint smile as if remembering something amusing. “You should have heard Jesus.”

“ _ The _ Jesus?” Dean asked with a disbelieving snort. “Seriously?”

The angel nodded silently, painful commemoration written all over his face, and the expression was so honest and unabashed it made Dean laugh out loud as he leaned off the doorframe. On his way to the bed, he gave the even more confused Castiel a quick pat on the shoulder, as if to apologize for laughing, before he leaned down to pull off his shoes and socks.

“I’m sorry man, but sometimes I don’t think you get how funny you are.”

He unbuckled his belt and slid his jeans off, leaving his boxers on as he flung the denim garment onto the floor next to him. Without thinking about what he was doing, his hands then reached for the hem of his t-shirt, and he pulled it over his head in a single, fluid motion before he sat down on the edge of the bed, pulling at the covers to get under them. He came to a complete halt, however, when he saw the way Castiel was looking at him, eyes wide and staring, and he realized with a stab of humiliation that he had just stripped himself almost completely naked in front of a fucking Servant of Heaven.

He quickly pulled the bedspread up to cover himself, and he was  _ not _ blushing, damnit! 

The whole familiar routine of undressing and getting ready for bed had him completely forgetting that doing this in front of Cas was nothing like doing it on front of his brother. Dean and Sam had practically been living confined in single bedrooms throughout their entire lives, and when you did that you learned pretty quickly where the line of intimacy was drawn. 

But Castiel didn’t seem to have grasped even the simple fact that when another dude undressed, you weren’t supposed to  _ look _ ! Of course, Castiel was  _ always  _ looking at him, that part had almost become so natural by now, that should he suddenly stop, Dean would get downright worried, but there were  _ limits _ !  

“Dude,  _ what _ ?” he snapped. Castiel’s eyes tore themselves away from somewhere in between Dean’s face and hips, and instead darted up to meet with his in something akin to panic.

“Don’t give me that look, this was your idea,” Dean exclaimed, crawling deeper underneath the duvet. “Just… get your ass over here so we can turn the lights off, I’m tired.”

Castiel gave a next to invisible nod and padded over to the other side of the bed, where he dutifully laid down, folding his hands neatly over his stomach. His body was tense and rigid like a rake, and  _ he  _ had been the one to talk about how sharing a bed would only be natural? 

“You’re sleeping fully dressed?” Dean gestured towards the trench coat with genuine surprise. Sure, the thought of sharing the bed with Castiel was making him anxious enough without the dude being stark naked, but the thought of him sleeping fully dressed—complete with shoes and outdoor clothing—was just disturbing.

“C’mon, take that off. You can’t wear that while you sleep.”

Castiel threw him a quick glance from the corner of his eye, for a moment looking like he was going to object, but then he obediently sat back up again. 

Without a word he untied his shoes, removing them one at a time before doing the same to his socks. He shrugged the trench coat off his shoulders, closely followed by the suit jacket. He then proceeded with unbuttoning the cuffs of his white shirt, then the remaining row of buttons down his front, only to be faced with yet another piece of clothing—a white t-shirt.

“Holy cow, how have you not melted in here?” Dean breathed. 

He had been sweating his ass off after a minor fifteen minutes after their arrival. The heaters had been set quite high, and the knob to the thermostat had been broken off for some reason and was missing. The very thought of how many layers the angel had been walking around with all this time made him cringe.

“The environmental heat does not bother me,” Castiel said lowly. He shot a quick glance over his shoulder at the human and swallowed hard, making Dean roll his eyes.

“Get a move on, you prude. I wanna to go to sleep.”

Castiel turned away and after a moment of hesitation, he then mimicked Dean’s move from earlier and dragged the t-shirt over his head. It took a few seconds before Dean realized that he was staring, but for the world of him he couldn’t stop, because Jesus  _ fucking _ Christ…!

“Cas…” he breathed. “What the hell is that?”

If he didn’t know better, he would have said that Castiel looked ashamed where he sat, back turned against him, clutching the covers with one hand while the other gripped around his t-shirt with taut fingers. 

On his back, wedged in between the shoulder blades and the spine, two deformed lumps were sticking out. They looked like cysts, and as Dean watched, the two slowly moved and flexed beneath the skin, making his initial thoughts shoot straight to the movie Alien.

For a few horrifying moments he almost expected a twin pair of those creepy, black little things to come bursting out and launch themselves at him, but then Castiel sighed—a broken, shivering sound.

“They’re my wings,” he murmured, and the two protrusions twitched. Dean swallowed hard, still unable to look away from the sight before him.

“What happened to them?” He wasn’t even aware that he was whispering. “Did… did the Grýla…?”

“No…” Castiel rasped. “This is my doing.”

Dean couldn’t find the words. Cas did something like that to his own wings?

“Why…?” he winced, and on the mattress Castiel shifted. 

“Containing myself within this body—even now when Jimmy’s gone—still requires effort. At my full strength it is but a minor inconvenience, but now…“ He looked up at the ceiling, avoiding Dean’s gaze, as if meeting it would be too hard.

“My true form would be harmful to you and Sam, and I’m not sure if I would be able to gather the strength it takes to leave this body without destroying it. Allowing my wings to take corporeal form... eases the pressure.”

The hand by his side twisted the covers, as if just talking about it caused him pain.

“I wasn’t going to mention it...” he added silently.

Dean licked his lips, closing his eyes for a moment while trying to assemble the information he had just been given.

“So you grew…  _ wings _ … in order to not explode into a million sticky pieces?” he asked, and when Castiel nodded, Dean sighed, gritting his teeth. 

“Man, why the hell didn’t you tell me it was this bad?” he demanded. “For fuck’s sake, if you’re not even strong enough to stay solid, I—”

“I didn’t want to worry you with trivial things.” 

At that, Dean couldn’t help but glare at him, weakened state or not. 

“You not being able to keep yourself together isn’t exactly what I would call ‘trivial’, Cas,” he growled. “If I’d known I would have— Damn it, I could have  _ helped _ you!”

“There’s nothing you can do, Dean. This has to take its time.”

Castiel hung his head down and sighed again. The muscles in his back tensed as a violent quake travelled through his body. It was as if now, when the secret was out, Castiel was finally allowing himself to show how much strain this had put on him, and it pained Dean to see him like that. Stupid, stupid,  _ stubborn _ angel…

“Well… I don’t know how this works exactly,” he said firmly. “But if growing solid wings makes things easier for you, why settle with the Notre Dame-look? Wouldn’t it be better if you went all out? Grew a pair of real wings, with feathers and stuff?”

Castiel nodded.

“It would. But it would also make it harder to remain inconspicuous in public. You and Sam would be in danger the very moment I got spotted.”

“But what about now?” Dean asked, gesturing to the empty room around them. “There’s no one else here, and I’d hate to burst your bubble, but I’ve already figured out that you’re not exactly human.” 

He settled back against the headboard, the covers sliding down to gather at his waist, arms crossing over his chest. Castiel shook his head.

“Dean… I—”

“C’mon man, it’s not that big of a deal. It’s just a pair of wings.”

For the first time since he removed his shirt, Castiel turned around to look at him. 

“Maybe for  _ you _ it is,” he said sourly. “For me, revealing them like this, in the flesh… It would be the equivalent of walking around in undergarments.”

“Well, wouldn’t that even us out,” Dean said, gesturing to his own half naked body, making Castiel’s eyes widen slightly. Dean sighed, willing his frustration down.

“Okay, listen. I promise I won’t peek if it’s privacy you want.” He held up a hand, and Castiel, who had been about to say something, shut his mouth with a faint click of his teeth. “So why can’t we just be honest, acknowledge that it’s for your own good, and grow a few feathers?” 

When Castiel still looked doubtful he continued: 

“And if it makes you feel more dressed or whatever, I won’t hassle you about sleeping with your clothes on.”

Blue eyes regarded him silently, that ethereal gaze that could make Dean feel safe and terrified all at the same time staring back at him in contemplation. Dean was almost sure that his argument had been a lost cause, but after a while Castiel’s shoulders slowly slumped down, and the angel licked his lips.

“Alright,” he murmured, and Dean felt the satisfying glow of victory settle in his chest. 

“That’s more like it,” he encouraged, but Castiel acted like he hadn’t heard him. Instead he closed his eyes, straightening up as he placed both hands beside him on the bed, and inhaled deeply.

Nothing happened. 

Dean didn’t know if the angel was waiting for him to leave or look away, but then there was movement underneath the skin on Castiel’s back as the two lumps there began to flex. The knobs twitched and strained, moving independently from one another in complex patterns beneath tan flesh, and Dean caught himself holding his breath. 

Minutes passed and soon Cas was trembling, his fingers twisting the covers until his knuckles whitened. His breath was starting to grow ragged as a fine shimmer of sweat broke out on his skin, but the shifting swellings in between his shoulders remained the same. Dean looked on nervously, because from where he was standing, he would say that whatever Castiel was trying to do, it was proving to be too much.

The tendons in the angel’s neck and arms tensed over and over, as if he was trying to lift a boulder twice his own size, and then suddenly there was a loud crack, like a branch snapping in half. 

The sound made Dean flinch violently on the bed, for a moment terrified that Castiel had gone overboard and actually blown himself to pieces. Then he sucked in a marvelling breath into his lungs as he witnessed the wings on Castiel’s back slowly beginning to take form before his very eyes. 

At first they were nothing but an extra pair of grotesquely deformed arms that jutted out from the spine in awkward angles, but then they slowly began to grow larger. Taller and more muscular, sinews and tendons weaving underneath the pink skin of the appendages and strengthening their structure.

Dean could hear a soft whisper in the air when small downs started growing out over the surface, a thousand times quicker than nature should have allowed them to. The fluffy quills were soon followed by larger plumes, and eventually even primary feathers, spreading across the bed in majestic elegance. 

The feathers were all light gray to begin with, but as Dean watched them grow, their colors darkened into an intense black that shifted in shades of violet, blue and green. 

For some reason, it didn’t surprise him to see that they were black. He had never been able to imagine Castiel with white wings, and seeing them like this, finally, just felt right in more ways than he could explain. As if he’d known what their color would be, but forgotten it… An explanation that perhaps held a bit more truth than he wanted to admit. 

The entire procedure was over in less than a minute. When Castiel’s body finally relaxed, the angel let out a long, shaky sigh towards the ceiling. His skin was glistening with sweat, muscles shaking with the effort of what he had just done while the shimmering curtain of feathers sang and murmured around him with every little movement he made. 

Meanwhile, Dean only stared, completely dumbstruck.

“Wow…” 

He couldn’t think of anything else to say that could even measure up to half of the things that were currently running through his head.

He had thought that seeing Castiel’s wings wouldn’t be more special than any of the other supernatural things he had witnessed throughout his life, but he had been wrong. The shadows he had been allowed to see that night in the barn when Castiel first revealed himself had been nothing but that—shadows. This on the other hand…  _ This… _

“They’re amazing…” he whispered, and his hand reached out to brush lightly against one of the large quills that were splayed out next to him. 

The moment his fingertips made contact with the soft surface of the feather, he felt a snap go off beneath them, as from static electricity. Castiel gasped as his entire body made a violent flinch to escape the touch, and Dean quickly withdrew his hand. 

“Woah, sorry! I’m sorry!” 

“They’re… still tender,” Castiel groaned, fingers clutching at the covers as if he was in pain.

“Yeah, yeah of course. Fuck, I’m sorry, man, I didn’t think.”

Castiel nodded, letting him know that it was okay, and slowly, slowly his grip around the sheets eased off. He inhaled deeply through his nose, calming his breathing down before allowing his gaze to settle on the wall in front of him, and then the muscles of his back tensed when he slowly stood up from the bed. 

The feathers rustled softly as Castiel stretched them out on either side of him, first the one on the right, then on the left. They towered above his head and spanned across the ceiling like enormous black sails, and the sight of them made Dean’s breath catch in his throat. 

They made him feel incredibly frail and breakable where he sat, half naked with only a sheet in between himself and this new, foreign creature standing mere feet away from him. The air felt heavy, like a thunderstorm was about to break out within the four walls of the room, and it dawned on Dean then that this was  _ Castiel _ ; one of God’s very own angels. He had known that since forever, of course, but it had never been  _ this  _ clear to him before.

Castiel sighed contently, and the wings folded beneath his back with a light whisper as he turned around, meeting Dean’s eyes with unabashed gratitude.

“This feels much better. Thank you.” 

“I didn’t really do anything,” Dean objected meekly, but Castiel just shook his head.

“You’re keeping an open mind,” he said firmly. “It helps more than you think that you are able to accept me like this.” He lowered his eyes to the floor, suddenly bashful. “I would not strip down in front of just anybody.”

“Dude, choice of words,” Dean mumbled, attempting to swallow down the embarrassment in his own voice.

Castiel smiled at him, but whether it was due to gratitude or Dean’s flustered state, Dean couldn’t tell. 

The angel leaned forward and lowered himself back onto the bed on all fours, and his wings spread a little wider when he moved, flexing to maintain the balance of his body. A few of the feathers dipped down to brush against the skin of Dean’s upper arm and side in the lightest of caresses, and without warning, that same spark of almost-electricity went off between them once again.  

Dean’s nerve endings thrummed with the sensation; sharp and urgent as a new, different wave of  _ something _ crashed through his body, leaving him gasping and grappling for the headboard. The color white exploded into his mind and he got a tangy, metallic taste in the back of his throat. It all disappeared after a mere split second, but it left Dean’s lungs battling for air as if he hadn’t been able to breathe for a freaking  _ hour _ !

“What the— What the  _ hell _ —” He was wheezing, staring at Castiel’s wings with wild eyes. “What the fuck was that?!”

Castiel in his turn looked as if he had just received an unexpected punch to the face. He was gaping back at Dean with eyes just as wide, and his pupils had dilated into black orbs, barely lined with impossible blue.

“I don’t know…” he murmured, and before Dean could stop him, he had reached out to drag his wing along Dean’s bare chest once again.

Dean was certain that the touch alone would have been enough to make him blackout, if only things had not been so incredibly  _ white _ . 

Thousands of tiny sparks lit up beneath his skin, a heat spreading like wildfire through every single part of his body. He opened his mouth to cry out, but couldn’t bring forth a sound as his hands twitched and grappled for something,  _ anything _ to hold on to. Then, just as fast, it was gone, leaving Dean fumbling for a way to make his limbs stop shaking and bring his mouth to function again.

When he opened his eyes—when had he closed them anyway?—he found Castiel staring back at him, the angel's chest rising and falling rapidly as if he had just run a mile. His wings were drawn tight against his body, but the feathers were rippling and shivering violently, forming a puffed up ridge from the crown all the way down; as if the angel was freezing cold.

“Y—you felt that too?” Dean choked, but Castiel didn’t answer, eyes lost somewhere far away from Dean’s voice. His head titled to the side, brow furling into a confused frown as his wings slowly began to drift towards the human for a third time. 

Dean scrambled back onto the other side of the bed, out of reach of the dark feathers while logic, morale and something else, far more primal tore at him from the inside out. 

“Hey, hey, hold on just a second!”

The angel stilled and blinked, as if trying to force the mesmerized haze out of his vision, then he abruptly sat back on his heels, pulling his wings behind his body so quickly the draft made Dean’s ferociously well-gelled bangs quiver. 

Dean released a shaky breath, trying to sit up higher, but he quickly slumped down again when he felt the jut of a very evident erection rub against the covers below his waistline. What the  _ fuck?! _

“What the  _ hell  _ is that stuff?!” he demanded, his voice barely avoiding the traitorous escalation that threatened to render the manly shout into a much less manly squawk. 

“Lingering Grace… I think,” Castiel answered, almost dreamily. Wondrous. “But I’ve never seen it manifest like this before…”

“Manifest, what do you mean?”  _ And why the hell am I sporting a tent in my boxers?! _

He didn’t say that last part out loud, but Castiel turned towards him nonetheless, eyes suddenly sharp and attentive.

“What did you feel?” he asked.

“Well it— I felt…” 

_ Really damn good. _

“… weird,” Dean ended lamely. Castiel’s eyes narrowed.

“Weird how?”

_ Orgasmic. _

“Just weird,” Dean stuttered out. “Like, I was getting electrocuted or… something.”

Castiel continued to squint at him, as if trying to deduce whether Dean was telling him the truth or not—which he clearly wasn’t, but how the hell was Dean supposed to tell an angel that the touch of a few feathers had almost made him cream his underwear? 

His dick was hard underneath the covers, begging for the strange sensation of Castiel’s wings once more, and Dean found that it took an incredibly large amount of self control to fight the urge to reach out and touch; the feathers still just within his reach. 

He wondered if Castiel would try to stop him if he did.

His eyes flickered up to meet with Castiel’s intense stare, and suddenly a horrible thought struck him.

“Are you doing your mind reading trick on me?” he asked defensively. 

Castiel’s face revealed nothing as his gaze held onto Dean’s for a few more seconds, then he finally looked away, moving to lie down onto his stomach on the mattress.

“I’m not,“ he assured him calmly. “But…”

“But what?” Dean felt panic flutter in his gut, and Castiel shook his head.

“It’s nothing.” He pulled at the duvet, rearranging it to cover his still clothed legs and the lower front of his chest, leaving his wings free to move. “We should sleep now.” 

As a second thought, he then twisted around so that he was lying on his side, face towards Dean, eyes resolutely shut and his wings carefully folded around to the other side of the bed. Beyond Dean’s reach.

“Sleep… Right…” 

Dean wasn’t really agreeing, but he was currently unable to come up with anything better to say. The thought of having some unknown force giving him erections was unnerving, to say the least, but since Castiel didn’t seem too upset about what had happened, he would just have to assume that it was at least safe. Even if he wasn’t prepared to go as far as to call it  _ okay _ . 

Of course, he could always ask. It would be an easy task to share the memory of what had just happened with Castiel, just to make sure that it was indeed harmless, but Dean was not going to do that. 

He did not under  _ any _ circumstances want Castiel poking around inside his head right now, no matter how much that shit with the wings freaked him out. He’d rather  _ die _ than be exposed to such humiliation. No, the less the angel knew about his physical predicament, the better…

He laid down and pulled the covers up high, staring at the ceiling while his heart continued to do the samba inside his chest. Breathing deeply, he tried to ignore the way his dick throbbed inside his boxers as his libido sent a flood of scorching impulses to his brain that all involved the words ‘ _ need! _ ’, ‘ _ touch! _ ’ and ‘ _ right the fuck now! _ ’. 

He fisted his hands on top of the covers, keeping them firmly by his sides, because this really wasn’t the time to be ‘in the mood’, freaky angel magic or not. He just had to relax and stop thinking about it, like immediately. He would fall asleep in no time, sure, no problem. 

It wasn’t until Castiel’s steady breathing next to him was the only thing being heard that he realized that there was no way in the seven plains of hell that he would be able to will the straining ache inside his boxers down. It was almost a full hour after they’d switched the lights off and he was still painfully hard. The thought of jerking off had absolutely struck him, more than once, but… 

He glanced to the right where Castiel was sleeping less than a few inches away.

Dean was all for being openly sexual. He wasn’t shy about the less evil things that went bump in the night… but rubbing one off with your guardian angel sleeping in the same bed was a little too much, even for him. The fact that said guardian angel also was the cause for him being in this predicament in the first place only added fuel to the fire. 

Whatever it was Cas’s wings had done to him, it was beyond anything he had ever experienced before. ‘Lingering Grace’ as the other had called it, with a capital G…

Lingering Grace, what the hell was that anyway? Cas had involuntary angel-mojoed him a near-orgasm, was that it? That the Grace worked like some sort of celestial aphrodisiac? 

It had to be something like that. It was the only possible explanation, because no matter how embarrassing it was to admit, Dean had no doubts in his mind that if Cas had touched him a third time, Dean would have lost it right then and there. 

God, that would have been so humiliating… Orgasming in front of your best friend, how would he ever have been able to live that down? Then again, maybe it wouldn’t have been that bad…? That look on Castiel’s face when he touched him had not been disgusted or embarrassed. More… as if he had been so intrigued by Dean’s reactions that he hadn’t been able to stop himself from touching again…  

The image of Castiel’s bewildered face and wide eyes flashed through Dean’s mind, sharp and crisp as had he been looking at a photograph. Cas had looked as if he— 

_ Liked it. As if he fucking  _ liked _ it.  _

That was ridiculous, of course. There was no reason Castiel would— No, that was just crazy…! 

Dean tried to roll over onto his stomach, barely succeeding in stifling a groan when his dick rubbed against the sheets, begging for attention.

There was no way he would be able to fall asleep like this.

He sat up slowly and threw his feet over the edge of the bed. The springs creaked, missing the weight of him as he got up and carefully tip toed his way through the room. His hand was already reaching out to grab at the handle to the bathroom door when Castiel suddenly shifted in his sleep.

Dean froze dead in the middle of a step, holding his breath, but there was no follow up. Castiel sighed and went still, and then there was silence.

Dean didn’t exhale until the bathroom door was safely shut and locked behind him.

_ This must be what it feels like to sneak past your parents after curfew,  _ he thought, not without irony.

He didn’t bother with turning the lights on. He found his way to the sink with help from the soft glow of the street lights outside that shone through the bathroom’s tiny, matted window. Wasting no time, he reached down, pushed the hem of his boxers lower and gripped himself with familiar fingers, feeling the heated skin pulse in gratification against the palm of his hand.

The first stroke made his breath hitch as the rough callouses of his palm moved over him. His free hand came up to rest against the wall next to the mirror, and he bowed his head, biting back something between a moan and a grumble behind his teeth.

It felt good, but… he couldn’t shake the feeling that it somehow wouldn’t be enough. After all, how would the ordinary, standard touch of his own hand possibly be able to replace that mind-blowing feeling of setting your very soul on fire? That sweet, sweet heat that licked every nerve with such ravaging delicacy… 

He tried to remember how it had felt, that sparking sensation that made lightning go off behind his eyes, and his cock twitched eagerly at the memory. Oh, if only there had been a way for him to feel it again without risking waking Cas up…  

A pang of guilt hit him square in the gut the very moment the thought entered his mind, because for some reason it felt as if he had just contemplated…  _ molesting  _ the guy.

_ He might not mind, though _ , the little voice inside his head provided helpfully.  _ Not if he wants to touch you too… _

Dean stilled his hand.

Would that be an option? If he just asked, would Cas…?

_ Those eyes.  _

Wide and innocent. Confused, as if the feeling had been completely new…  _ Foreign _ . And the way the other’s mouth had hung open; gasping, short of breath… Like the sensation had hit Castiel just as much as it had hit Dean.

The way Cas had reached out for him. Being curious… or wanting more?

Dean shivered in the cool air, imagining how it would have felt if Castiel hadn’t stopped when Dean told him to. The look on the angel’s face when the feeling struck him, eyes clenching shut and fingers curling into the bedspread. Feathers sliding over Dean’s naked skin, that wondrous sensation spreading in their wake like wildfire through dry grass… And Castiel would…. Cas would…

His hand was already sticky with precome when he abruptly let go of himself. He turned away from the sink, dragging a long, shaky breath down his lungs while his heart hammered against his chest so hard the sound of it echoed through his skull.

Where the hell had that one come from?! Why would his brain even— 

“C’mon man, get a hold of yourself,” he hissed silently, forcefully clearing his mind on everything that involved the celestial life form sleeping in the other room. 

Closing his eyes, he tried to think of round, female breasts and lace thongs, simply focusing on the touch of his own hand as he began stroking himself once more.

He slid his palm up and down the length of his cock, occasionally sweeping the thumb over the tip and twisting his wrist at the upstroke, clenching his teeth against the low noises that tried to slip out between his lips. His body was trembling and he knew that he wouldn’t be able to last for long—over an hour of trying to will down a boner had left him more sensitized than he had expected. Though, it really wouldn’t surprise him if that was just another one of the effects Castiel’s grace had left on him. 

Uninvited, the mental image of Castiel’s face, flushed and with lips parted in a moan flashed through his head, making him whimper in the back of his throat. 

He was so close now. He was fighting the urge to thrust into his own hand, hips jerking and breath hitching as the scenery continued before his inner vision, without his consent. 

Castiel, crawling up next to Dean on that big bed. Wings, spreading low over his body…  Feathers touching him, stroking him slowly to completion while Cas whispered his name in that low, gravely voice of his. Telling him to let go, to  _ come for him… _

Orgasm hit Dean like a sledgehammer to the chest, and he barely managed to keep himself from crying out as he splattered long ropes of white, sticky semen into the porcelain basin. Aftershock rolled through him over and over, and he had to steady himself against the wall with the way his head was spinning, his shoulders trembling with the effort to keep himself upright.

Fucked up, that’s what this was… In every plausible meaning of the word, and—Oh God, what had he just  _ done _ ? 

He turned on the faucet, vigorously washing away every trace of his shameful act while trying his best not to think about it. Because there was no reason to think about it. He  _ wasn’t _ going to think about it, damn it! 

He shot a quick look at the locked door, half expecting to see Castiel standing there in the doorway, looking at him in horror— _ knowing _ what had happened.

_ How the hell am I supposed to go back out there now? _

Suddenly, sleeping in the tub seemed like a more attractive proposition than any bed in the world.

After he had pulled his boxers back up and finally managed to gather enough control over his beating heart to open the bathroom door, he padded his way back outside. Dean grimaced when the springs winced as he got back in bed, and he pulled the covers up high underneath his chin, back turned against Castiel’s face. He couldn’t find the nerve to even  _ look  _ at him.

His heart was still racing, but more from anxiousness and perturbation over what he had just done rather than physical arousal. He had just jerked off while thinking about what had to be his best friend, and as if that wasn’t enough, this said friend also happened to be a freaking  _ angel! _

This had to be a new, personal low for him, and if there had been any doubts before then he was absolutely certain now—he was going to Hell for this. Again.

_ Idiot! _ he thought to himself as he buried his face deep into the pillow with a groan. 

_ How about you just take a cold shower next time! _

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading, you guys <3   
> Please let me know what you think of the chapter, I'm curious as always :)
> 
> Well, I'm off to celebrate Midsummer now ;) Have a great weekend, Sweeties! <3


	4. 4

The morning after was just like any other morning. At least the first thirty seconds of it.

The sun was shining in through the crooked blinds of the window and the birds were having a minor concert in the trees outside. Dean stretched and yawned lazily, like a large cat waking up from a nap as he rolled over onto his side, grumbling when his chest bumped into something warm and solid. There was a tickle on his nose and he frowned, twisting his head to get the annoyance away from his face but without results, only succeeding in making it worse. 

Peering through sleepy eyelids, he slowly worked the surrounding world back into focus, and he frowned as he found himself blinking straight at a dark mass of thick, wispy hair; so close that a few of the wayward strands were brushing against his cheek. Letting his gaze drift downwards, he also came face to face with a set of dark lashes, sharp cheekbones and full, pink lips.

He squinted at the sight for a few seconds in dazed confusion before his eyes suddenly flew open, the memories of last night hitting him like a knuckleduster punch to the face.

Launching himself backwards with an undignified squawk, he completely misjudged his position on the bed. He unceremoniously landed in a flailing heap on the floor with a deafening bang, dragging both sheets and table lamp down with him in the crash. 

Castiel’s head shot up from the pillow, the iridescent wings flaring out like a shield over the bed while blue, sleep-drunken eyes flickered wildly in search of the source of the sudden ruckus. 

“Dean?” he rasped. As his eyes landed on the empty spot on the mattress next to him he blinked in confusion, receiving a low groan from the floor in return.

“Dean..?” He pushed himself up on all fours on the mattress, groggily manoeuvring himself closer to the edge of the bed where Dean’s left foot was sticking up, still partially caught in the sheets.

“Yeah?” Dean answered, trying to sound unfazed as he untangled himself from the lamp cord.

“What are you doing?”

“Redecorating.”

Dean heard the soft rustle of feathers when Castiel folded his wings behind his back, and then the unruly mess that was the angel’s head came peeking out from above the mattress. 

“Are you alright?”

“Yeah, yeah, never better.” 

Dean crawled to his feet and quickly stalked over to where the baby nest was sitting on the floor next to the television set, avoiding the sight of the angel on the bed with all his might. Sam was already awake, blue eyes currently darting around the room as if he had never seen anything more interesting in his life.

“Hey there, buddy!” Dean picked his brother up, thankful beyond reason that he had someone other than Castiel to focus on. Sam on the other hand, looked right past Dean’s shoulder and over at Castiel, stretching his hands out towards the winged man with a happy shriek.

Dean turned around to face the angel, who was now kneeling on the bed and looking at him with his head tilted in that peculiar way he always did when he was trying to figure out the function behind a typical human behaviour. The sight of him was more than enough to make Dean intensely aware of the fact that he was still in his boxers. Even more so, of the fact that Cas was only dressed in trousers, his chest completely bare,  _ kneeling _ on a fucking  _ bed _ just a few feet away.

He immediately whirled around again, turning his back towards the scene before his body convinced his brain to do something stupid. Instead, he did his best to focus all his attention on the baby in his arms.

“So, how about some breakfast, big guy?” he exclaimed loudly. He quickly made his way towards the kitchen area, but to his dismay, Castiel climbed off the bed and followed him slowly, observing as if he wasn’t quite sure what Dean was doing. Or perhaps wondering if the fall had somehow hurt his head.

Dean took out one of the tiny jars of baby food and unscrewed the lid, rummaging around the drawers for a spoon. The cupboard doors slammed, the drawers rattled, and everything felt so loud and at the same time so suffocatingly quiet it was driving him crazy. Why didn’t Cas  _ say _ anything? Why was he just  _ standing _ there, staring as if he had never seen a human before?

_ Half naked human _ his brain corrected smugly, promptly causing him to drop the spoon into the sink with a loud clatter.

“Dean…?”

_ Fuck…! _

Castiel walked up and resolutely picked the jar out of his hand, blue eyes piercing his with genuine concern.

“Are you sure you are feeling well?” Without waiting for an answer, he stepped forward and reached out to place a hand on Dean’s forehead, but pulled it back just as quickly, his eyes suddenly wide with... something.

_ Those eyes… As if he  _ liked _ it… _

“Your eyes are glassy.” Castiel cleared his throat, looking away. “And your motoric skills appear to be failing.” 

“Huh?” Dean hadn’t heard a word of the things coming from his friend’s mouth; he was too busy trying to keep himself together. Castiel was too close,  _ far _ too close and Dean could feel his face heat up with embarrassment to the point when he thought it would simply melt right off. With horror, he realized that his boxers were getting tighter by the second, and he desperately tried to look anywhere but at Cas’s naked skin, but with the way they were standing, there wasn’t really much else to look at.

Castiel took a step back, carefully prying Sam away from Dean’s arms in the process.

“You should lay down,” he ordered, and Dean nodded obediently.

“Yeah… That’s a good idea. I just have to… you know…” he turned around and walked straight into the bathroom. Ignoring the quizzical head tilt that was being aimed at his back, he locked the door tightly behind him, trying his best to hide the unwelcomed erection that had taken up residence inside his underwear.

/\/\/\/\/\/\

When Dean finally emerged from the bathroom once more, having spent almost an hour in a very cold shower, Castiel had already packed their things together and was waiting for him by the door. He asked Dean several times if he was feeling fit to drive, to which Dean answered that yeah, he was alright, and that Cas should stop acting like a freaking nanny. 

“So.” Dean gestured towards the wings sticking out from Castiel’s back, having securely distanced himself to the other side of the room. “What do we do about those?”

“Do?” Castiel asked, obviously confused by the question.

“You don’t think people will freak out just a little if you come walking down the street with those?”

Castiel still wasn’t wearing any shirt, and Dean’s eyes hungrily lapped up the sight of tan, smooth skin stretching over lean muscles with the delicious way Castiel’s neck craned when the angel turned his head to look over his shoulder. 

“I suppose they came out a bit bigger than I had planned…” he mumbled, but Dean barely heard him. The thought of licking up the length of that torso had suddenly made a vivid appearance inside his head, and it wasn’t until he noticed Castiel staring at him that he realized where his imagination was heading.

“Yeah, and, uh… w—what about your shirt?” he added, silently cursing the fact that he was stuttering. “I don’t know about wearing wings, but not wearing any clothes is considered a criminal offence in certain states.”

He wasn’t sure, but for a split second, he thought he saw something that looked a lot like abashment flash across Castiel’s face.

“I could make them smaller,” he mumbled, looking back at the limbs on his back, though not sounding too happy about the thought. “But it’s not very pleasant…”

“Will it be better than to removing them completely and growing them back again tonight?” Dean asked. Castiel looked at him as if he was stupid.

“Of course,” he said. “Creation is always more strenuous than alteration.”

“Then I guess there’s not much more to it.” Dean flicked his hands out in a ‘hurry-up’ movement.

Castiel shot him a withering look, but then he reluctantly closed his eyes, taking a deep breath. Slowly, slowly the dark wings began to shrink, inch by inch, until the alula were at the same height as Castiel’s ears and the large primary feathers could be safely hidden underneath the edge of the trench coat. Well, almost at least.  

“They’re still a bit too big, aren’t they?” Dean said with disappointment. “I mean, they’re not exactly going to fit in the passenger seat. And how are you supposed to get your clothes back on?“

Castiel looked at him, slightly out of breath and eyes hazy. He walked over and picked up his white dress shirt, which was flung over the back of one of the kitchen chairs. He slid his arms into the sleeves, pulling it on in a single, well practiced motion, and like a knife cutting through syrup the wings came melting through the back of the garment without leaving as much as a mark on the fabric.

“Neat,” Dean commented. He quirked his brow and smiled, genuinely impressed. He had almost forgotten about why he was standing so far away from the other when the corner of Castiel’s mouth twitched upwards, sending him a weak smile which sent Dean’s stomach into a whirl of emotions he really wasn’t ready to face yet. 

“Alright, let’s go.” He quickly bent down and slung his duffel over his shoulder, and he was already halfway out the door before Castiel had even gotten his trench coat on.

/\/\/\/\/\/\

They got back on the road and kept driving for as long as they could.

Castiel’s motion sickness seemed to have subsided, most likely because of what a relief it was for him to have his wings out. Dean, on the other hand, couldn’t really get used to seeing those large feather clad limbs stick out through the back of Castiel’s seat, using the same magic the angel had used to make them go through his clothes. 

To be honest, they really weren’t as much a distraction as they were a downright safety hazard. Dean found himself turning into a shivering pile of Jell-O every time they so much as twitched, being painfully aware of how close they were to his own body in the small space they were in. 

To make the situation even worse, his anxious fear of having the wings touching him was also constantly challenged by his own erratic longing for touching  _ them _ . He caught himself more than once contemplating on how easy it would be to simply reach behind the seat and run his fingers along those dark feathers, just to see if it would still feel the same. Luckily that little voice in the back of his head informed him that if he did so, he would most likely end up killing them all in the car crash that would inevitably occur seconds afterwards. 

There wasn’t much talking. Castiel didn’t seem to be in the mood for conversation and Dean could barely bring himself to look at the other guy, so instead they spent the day in complete silence. As if they were two monks on some kind of spiritual journey. 

Dean was desperately trying to keep his mind off the topic of last night, but unfortunately, his mind didn’t seem willing to cooperate with him. Every single sound or movement from his travel companion sent shivers racing up his spine, filling his head with images that even pay per view would be reluctant to air. It was confusing, frustrating and if he had to pick another word, it was also pretty damn  _ scary _ .

Why was he even thinking these things? And even more disturbingly; why was his dick reacting to them as if they were  _ good _ things?! He shouldn’t be getting hard from the thought of bending Castiel over the hood of his car and—okay, bad line of thought. Very, very bad line of thought.

Point being, the entire situation was completely ridiculous. Stupid and twisted. There had to be something wrong with him; he had to be sick, or dying, or  _ worse, _ because this was just  _ wrong _ in so, so many ways _. _

He was so far gone in his broodings that a few hours later, when Castiel leaned over and asked him whether he was feeling better, Dean responded by flinching so violently in his seat that the Impala ended up skidding into the wrong lane. For a few heart wrenching seconds he thought that they would all end up in the ditch, but he somehow managed to wrench the vehicle back onto the road, regaining control before biting back that, yes, he was perfectly  _ fine _ . 

Sam had a minor breakdown around noon, and Castiel informed Dean that it was because he was getting bored. The issue was quickly handled, however, because Castiel simply raised one of his wings to splay the feathers out over the infant’s head, sending the car rippling with iridescent colours from where the sun struck the dark quills through the backseat window. 

Sam immediately went dead quiet, staring up at the large feathers with fascination beaming out of his baby blue eyes. Dean couldn’t blame him; he had a world of trouble trying to pry his eyes away from them himself, but for completely different, significantly more disturbing reasons… 

He was half of a breath away from slamming his foot on the brakes and yelling out a warning when Sam’s tiny hand suddenly reached out to clutch around one of Castiel’s primary feathers. However, he managed to stop himself at the very last second when he noticed that absolutely  _ nothing  _ happened. 

Castiel only glanced back and gave the child one of his endearing almost-smiles, grimacing when Sam tugged the feather all the way down in an attempt to stuff the dark velvet inside his mouth. 

Castiel flicked his wing gently to the side and managed to free himself just before he got covered in baby drool. In return, Sam shrieked loudly in delight and clapped his hands together, as if the angel’s escape was the most impressive feat ever to be seen.

Dean stared at the child in the rearview mirror. He had no idea how to interpret that scene he had just witnessed, and he quickly decided that he didn’t even  _ want _ to think about it. He didn’t want to contemplate the reason why Sam could touch Castiel’s wings without anything happening while he himself could not. Instead, he resolutely turned his attention back to the road, deciding that for the upcoming hours, if it didn’t involve traffic or driving, he wasn’t going to think about it. Period.

/\/\/\/\/\/\

They ended up driving through most of the night, taking advantage of the dwindling traffic, but when Castiel started groaning and tilting his head back with eyes clenched shut from oncoming nausea, Dean decided that they had to find a place to stay… 

“Sorry, no vacancies,” the scrawny woman on the other side of the counter drawled, tapping her cigarette against the ashtray by the register.

“C’mon, it says vacancies right there!” Dean gestured towards the large neon sign that proudly announced that they had reached the ‘Mount Montana Motel’, where the word ‘vacancies’ flashed in big, yellow letters towards the road.

The woman gave him a blank stare before slowly looking over his shoulder at the Impala, which from an outsider's point of view visibly contained a sleeping baby in the backseat, and a much more rumpled,  _ almost _ sleeping man in the front. 

They had tried their best to conceal Castiel’s wings before rolling into the motel parking lot. Castiel had made sure to keep them slumped down and out of sight, but Dean still felt his pulse pick up when the raggedy old hag squinted her eyes towards the angel, studying the scruffy man with increasing suspicion. 

The angel was leaning his head against the window, eyes almost fully closed from exhaustion, his face fully visible. Dean could literally  _ feel _ the ice creeping forth behind the protective glass of the cubicle as the woman’s gaze travelled back and forth between them. 

It was a look he knew uncomfortably well. He and Sam had been unable to rent rooms on several occasions in the past, and despite the fact that they had insisted that they were just brothers, they had always received that very same look in return. 

He knew what was coming long before the woman reached down and flipped the switch underneath the desk, lighting up a big, glowering red “NO” in front of the yellow words on the sign behind him.

“No vacancies,” she repeated, disgust dripping from her voice.

Dean had to bite down on the insides of his cheek once, hard, before he managed to force forth a strained smile. He wished the woman a pleasant night and then turned back to the car, cursing under his breath.

“No vacancies,” he announced bitterly as he shut the door behind him. “Fucking bitch…” he added with a polite wave to the frumpy lady behind the window. She made no attempt whatsoever to wave back as they sped out of the driveway, heading back onto the road.

“I can’t believe it, this is the fifth place,” Dean raged, teeth gritted in frustration. “Does this entire state have homophobia or something?”

“Actually, the man at the third motel simply didn’t like your car,” Castiel mumbled against the window. “Or you,” he added, almost like an afterthought.

“Thanks,” Dean muttered, “now I feel much better…” 

He glanced back at his brother, sighing.

“I just don’t get it,” he complained. “Why are people getting so worked up over two dudes and a baby? Seriously, we even offered to pay for two different rooms!”

Castiel turned towards him, a furrow in his brow.

“You seem very upset about this,” he said, sounding more as if he was stating the obvious rather than posing a question. 

“Of course I’m upset!” Dean exclaimed heatedly. “I’m going to have to spend the night in the car because people keep treating us like we carry a disease or something!”

“Being homosexual is not a medical condition,” Castiel mumbled, and Dean grimaced.

“Dude, don’t even start,” he warned.

“Start what?”

“You’ve been going on about the whole ‘it’s-okay-to-be-gay’ speech for two days now. There’s no need to preach, Cas, I’m not a homophobe.” 

Ironically enough, as he said it, Dean’s head was already fully occupied with playing out a scene of Castiel leaning down to unbutton Dean’s jeans while moaning loudly against his thigh…

“Then why do you find the subject so enraging?” Castiel asked, puzzled.

“ _ Because _ ,” Dean snapped, shifting uncomfortably in his seat. “Can we please just drop it?”

Castiel looked as if he was about to argue, but in the end he simply shook his head and turned away, staring out the window once more.

They kept driving in silence for a few more miles before they found a good place to stop. Dean switched off the engine and nestled himself as far into the driver’s seat as he could get, wrapping his arms around himself. 

As he drifted off to sleep, he tried to ignore the way Castiel’s eyes burned into the back of his neck, and the heat the weight of that gaze caused to churn in the pit of his stomach.

/\/\/\/\/\/\

The next day, Sam woke up in a really shitty mood. He screamed, and he cried, and he wailed, and no matter what they did, he just didn’t  _ stop _ . 

The volume made Dean physically cringe, and after a full hour of constant screaming he just couldn’t take it anymore. That’s why they were currently parked on a small rest stop along the main road, both men standing outside the car which was currently containing one  _ very _ pissed off baby. Even Castiel, who always took on Sam with such patience, had begun to look as if he would prefer to simply not get back inside the car again,  _ ever _ .  

“For fuck’s sake, Cas, make him  _ stop _ ,” Dean wailed, pulling his hands down over his face in frustration.

“I can’t,” Cas grumbled.

“Have you tried the tie?” 

“Yes.”

“Well, did you try the wings?”

“ _ Yes. _ ”

Dean folded his arms over his head as he leaned onto the roof of the car, groaning loudly into the paint job.

“There has to be  _ something! _ ”

“Well, he’s  _ your _ brother,” Castiel retorted grumpily. Dean rolled his eyes, and then came up alongside the angel to peer through the window of the back seat. 

“Is he in pain?” he asked, but Castiel shook his head.

“No. He’s simply displeased.”

“With what?”

“He doesn’t know.”

“Wow. Fantastic…”

Dean turned and took a few steps away from the car.

“There has to be  _ something! _ ” he repeated again, before turning back around to point accusingly at the Impala. “I’m  _ not  _ getting back in there as long as he’s doing that.”

“We could always wait him out?” Castiel suggested carefully, looking in through the windows once more, but recoiled quickly when a particularly loud shriek was directed at him in return. He shrugged at Dean, a motion that looked oddly laughable with the wings mimicking the movement behind his back. “He’s bound to get exhausted soon.” 

Dean looked at the car. His brother could be a real pain in the ass when he had decided that he wanted something— _ that _ part of him had not changed no matter how old he got—and seeing as they didn’t have much of an option…

“I guess it’s worth a shot,” he sighed. Turning his back on the screaming child inside the car, he flopped down on the grass by the side of the ditch, resting his elbows on his knees. 

The sun was shining and all in all it was a beautiful day. Birds were singing and a warm wind swept through the trees, rustling the leaves with a quiet whisper. It was one of those days when he and Sam would usually find a good place to park, open up a few beers, crank up some rock’n’roll on the radio and not do shit until next morning. Had things been normal, that was… 

He sighed and tipped his head back, allowing the sun to warm his face and neck. Things would work out, eventually, he told himself. Sam would be back to normal in no time; Castiel had promised so.

He opened one of his eyes and peered over at the angel, who still hadn’t moved from his spot by the car.

“You’re just gonna stand there?” he asked.

“No.” Castiel replied instantly, moving over to sit down next to him, almost mechanically; something Dean really hadn’t anticipated. Suddenly he wished he hadn’t said anything at all, because now they were too close again, and Dean’s body was already heating up.

“I didn’t mean it like that,” he murmured, resolutely looking away. “You can keep standing if you want to…”

“It’s fine.” Castiel swallowed. “Sitting is fine.”

Dean quirked an eyebrow. If he hadn’t known any better, he’d say that Cas sounded flustered. His eyes drifted to rest upon the angel’s pink lips, unconsciously taking note of how soft and plump they looked. Kissable… 

He quickly pried his eyes away, attempting to will down that now familiar, yet still very unsettling tingle in his lower regions. Why the hell couldn’t he stop himself from thinking these things? They were sick!

Castiel moved, shifting uneasily by his side, and Dean had to force himself not to flinch when he heard wings stretch out behind him.

“You sure you should be doing that?” he said, keeping his gaze firmly locked onto the ground between his feet, heart thumping inside his chest. “Somebody might see you.”

“The car keeps us out of sight.”

Dean’s brain instantly started painting him vivid pictures of the various activities for which the car could be used to shield them from prying eyes, but he quickly forced those thoughts back to whatever unexplored corner of his subconscious they had escaped from. 

He felt fidgety, and in a hasty attempt to ease the restlessness creeping underneath his skin, he leaned back and laid his body down onto the grass, folding his hands behind his head.

It was a decision that he regretted having made almost immediately, when the new position caused his shirt to ride up above the edge of his jeans, exposing a small portion of his hipbone and stomach. 

It was an insignificant detail, he knew that, but somehow it felt as if he had just pulled a pose worthy of a centerfold in Hustler’s magazine… He couldn’t sit back up now, however, because that would just seem weird seeing as he had just laid down. Instead, he stayed where he was, eyes closed against the sun, as he tried to will the tension in his muscles away. 

Castiel was looking at him, he could feel it. He had always been able to sense when the angel was staring him down; it was like radar inside his head that went off whenever Castiel’s eyes turned his way, and right now it was blaring like a goddamn foghorn. 

His pulse was pounding against his ears as Castiel’s eyes roamed over the length of his body, making his mouth run dry.

Yes, Dean Winchester was very well aware of the fact that his body wasn’t exactly something to be ashamed of. After all these years he had received far too many compliments, suggestive looks, and downright shameful offers to  _ not  _ know. 

He couldn’t help but feel a tiny spark of excitement travel down his spine at the thought of Castiel watching him like  _ that,  _ like so many women and even men had done before… Fuck, he could barely keep his breathing steady just thinking about it. 

To make an angel experience something as corrupt as sexual attraction would have been quite a power high all on its own, but to make that a  _ homosexual  _ sexual attraction on top if it…? 

Slowly, slowly Dean opened his eyes, just enough to look at the other from underneath his eyelashes, and his heart made a jump in his chest at what he saw.

Castiel had his eyes locked on that small patch of naked skin by Dean’s hips, and he had a look of indecisive panic on his face, as if he didn’t know whether to stay or run for his life. 

Dean knew that look. He had seen it for the first time when he had volunteered to get the virgin angel laid on what they had presumed to be his last night on earth. The moment that prostitute had walked up to their table, Cas had not only lost his ability to speak, but also breathe properly as well. At the time, Dean had found the reaction hilarious, but now it sort of horrified him what an arousing effect that expression had on him.

Castiel’s throat bobbed up and down when he swallowed hard, his mouth falling open in a mute whimper, but fuck, Dean could still  _ hear  _ the sound of it inside his head. Castiel’s wings were perked up, ruffled and puffy at the arch, and a few of the large primary feathers were literally trembling. 

As if in a trance, Castiel raised his arm, reaching out towards him, and the longing for touch reverberated through Dean’s entire being as his body yearned for it; a pleading litany of ‘ _ yesdoittouchmepleaseCasjust _ touch _ me _ ’ humming inside his head.

He wasn’t even aware of the fact that he had now opened his eyes completely, staring openly at Castiel’s hand as it drew closer. He noticed how it was trembling, mirroring the shaky sound of Castiel’s breathing. 

Dean felt like a magnet, and even though he knew that he shouldn’t want it, he still found that another part of him was blatantly euphoric at the prospects this newfound power over the angel provided him with. 

Castiel’s hand was so close now; just a few more inches and Dean would get to feel the light brush of fingertips against his skin. He held his breath, waiting, and his head was nearly swimming from the lack of oxygen when he heard Castiel’s breath hitch.

The other’s hand quickly retreated, coming down to fist the grass by Castiel’s side and tethering the angel to the ground like an anchor. Dean could barely hold back the frustrated groan that threatened to leave his mouth, and then he remembered that the situation really shouldn’t be making him feel  _ disappointed _ .

“I think he’s asleep now,” Castiel declared loudly while staring straight ahead, determinedly not looking anywhere near Dean’s direction, and Dean quickly sat back up. 

“Yeah…” He cleared his throat, straightening his clothing. “It’s really quiet.” 

In reality, Dean didn’t think it was quiet at all. The moment Castiel’s hand had snapped back, the rest of the world had come flooding back in. The birds were once again screaming in the sky, the wind was blowing up a hurricane in the treetops, and the vehicles flashing by on the road behind them all sounded like roaring race cars in Dean’s ears. It was a deafening cacophony of sounds compared to the anticipating silence that had lowered itself over them mere minutes ago.

“We should keep going,” Castiel said, and before Dean could answer, the angel abruptly stood up from the ground and walked back to the car. 

As he got up to follow, Dean tried to convince himself that he was supposed to feel  _ relieved  _ that nothing had actually happened, but instead his body seemed fully content with just aching from the sudden loss of Castiel’s presence.

/\/\/\/\/\/\

Evening fell, and this time they were able to take their refuge at a nearby motel. Just to be safe from any more unwanted opinions on their little ‘family’, Dean convinced Castiel to get out of the car and wait behind the building while Dean got the key to their room. 

Dean could tell that Castiel didn’t appreciate being hidden away like a freak of nature, but it was either that, or another night sleeping in the car.

“There’s no helping it man, I’m sorry,” Dean said as they walked into their room, which Dean had made damn sure had two very separate beds, even if the man by the reception had given him a very odd look for it. “If somebody sees you, we’ll be lucky if the rumours stay on the human side of the state.”

God, Dean didn’t even want to think about if demons or any other nasties caught on to their current situation… One domesticated angel who had displaced his heavenly powers, one brother turned into a crying infant while the other brother did his best to keep the entire group together without losing his own sanity in the process. Seriously, Hell would have a fucking field day… 

“Until you’ve got your strength back you stay out of sight, capish?” he ordered firmly, turning around just in time to catch Castiel roll his eyes to the ceiling. He then, while Dean was still looking, unceremoniously began unbuttoning his shirt, causing Dean’s face to instantly run pale and flush hot at the same time.

“What are you doing?” Dean croaked, cautiously taking a step back.

“These are uncomfortable,” Castiel answered, sliding both the trench coat and the suit jacket off. “I prefer not to wear them when I’m in this form.”

Dean couldn’t even find words to answer. Instead he stood there, helplessly, and watched patch after patch of Castiel’s naked skin come into view. When that silky white fabric slid of the angel's shoulders he had to physically turn away in order not to embarrass himself completely.

This was a disaster, he thought. This was horrible, this was… This was—  

_ Exciting. _

No! Not exciting! Absolutely not in any way! 

The building tension inside his trousers however, did not seem to agree.

How the hell was he supposed to make it through the night when Castiel, the stupid fuck, was parading around the room half naked!? He was trapped, and there was nowhere to run!

“Dean?”

He turned around, ready to flash a fake smile towards the angel by the sofa, only Castiel was no longer standing where he had been a few seconds ago. Instead, Dean found himself staring straight into wide, blue eyes, and he could feel the floor beneath his feet sway when his chest bumped into the firm muscles of Castiel’s torso. Damn it, when had he gotten so  _ close _ ?!

Just like that, the magnetic pull from that morning was back. Dean could feel it drag him forward, tugging him closer. The span of Castiel’s skin suddenly appeared irresistible to touch, begging to be smoothed down by Dean’s fingers… Dark nipples pleaded for his attention, and Dean had a painful urge to lean forward and lick at that dusky piece of skin until the taste of Castiel was forever imprinted on his tongue.

“Dean.” 

Dean’s gut clenched when he heard the low gravel of Castiel’s voice; so thick and throaty. His head was spinning with thoughts of skin, saliva and sweat, and somewhere in the midst of that chaos he found himself wondering what Castiel’s voice would sound like while moaning his name.

It was with horror that he realized that whatever this was that was happening to him, he wasn’t sure if he would be able to withstand it for much longer. 

“What…?” he asked drowsily, ripping himself into clarity long enough to form at least  _ one _ word. Castiel’s eyes were filling up his vision now, so impossibly, insanely blue… 

_ I wonder what he tastes like…?  _

The thought barely had time to pass through his own head when Castiel suddenly closed his eyes and shuddered, just a ghosting of a sigh passing his lips. It was so brief that Dean would have missed it, had he not been staring right at the other’s face when it happened, but it only lasted a second. Then those eyes were back, sharp and unreadable as they fixed onto him with their usual, inscrutable stare. 

“You’re blocking the way.”

Dean blinked, and then finally he realized that Castiel was holding three jars of Sam’s baby food in his hands.

“Oh… oh, sorry!”

He quickly stepped to the side, allowing Castiel to place the jars on the counter behind him, cursing inside his head for being such a wreck. 

Why was he letting this get to him so badly?! He wasn’t interested in dudes, he never had been…! Not that he didn’t know how to appreciate a fine specimen of the male population when he saw one, but he had never considered doing anything even remotely resembling the things he had thought about doing with Castiel for the past two days. 

There had to be a reason for his body suddenly behaving the way it was, and most importantly—there had to be a cure! Something to set his mind straight again, and just like that, Dean Winchester knew exactly what he needed. What he had to do.

He had to find himself a  _ woman _ . 

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading, guys, you're the best <3  
> Leave me a comment on what your think so far. Things are starting to heat up now ;)
> 
> Have a great day!


	5. 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry about the late update, guys.   
> I got kidnapped by some friends in celebration of my birthday this weekend, so I haven't had the time to get to a computer until now.  
> Hopefully, you'll enjoy the chapter anyway ;)

Dean had told Cas that he was going to head out for a little while. The angel hadn’t asked where he was going or for how long he’d be gone, which honestly would have peeved Dean off a little if it hadn’t been for the fact that it suited his current interests perfectly.

Only a meagre twenty minutes later, he was sitting in a bar a few blocks away from the motel. Half an hour after that, he also had three beers and two steady shots of whiskey in his stomach, working his way through his fourth round. 

He was on the prowl, scanning the place for every possible candidate he could lay his eyes on. There were quite a few good alternatives present, but tonight, Dean was looking for something special. He didn’t have time to charm some giggling college girl into a temporary relationship, no matter how willing she was. He was looking for a real stunner of a woman; someone who knew what she was doing and wouldn’t hesitate to take advantage of it. 

Dean was  _ hunting _ , but he hoped to God that the hunt wouldn’t drag out too long—he really just wanted to get his head fucked straight so that he could go back to solving the situation with Sam. Without any more angelic distractions.

He took another large gulp of his beer, feeling the pleasant buzz of alcohol work its way through his brain. He knew that Sam would pull a bitch face on him had he known, but getting completely hammered tonight felt like the best idea Dean had had in a very long time. He wasn’t going to let his not-present brother ruin the experience. 

He put the beer down and picked up the shot instead, swigging it back and slamming the empty glass back down onto the counter with a satisfied sigh.

“That looked tasty,” someone purred next to his ear, and he turned his head to the side, putting on his most flirtatious smile in the process.

_ Yahtzee. _

She was curvy—damn, Dean would even go as far as to call her voluptuous—had dark, flowing hair that reached below her shoulders, and a body that could have been shaped by the hands of the Man Upstairs himself. Her legs would have had any male within a mile drooling like a dog at the mere sight of them. 

Her eyes were lined with charcoal eyeliner and giving off that sexy kind of Catherine Zeta Jones vibe, serving Dean a smile that suggested that the word “tasty” had not been directed solely towards the drink he had just downed.

Dean couldn’t help but to grin at his own luck. This one was perfect. He turned towards the bartender, holding up the empty shot glass.

“Two more of these, will ya?”

The female apparition took a seat on the stool next to him, all seductive eyelashes and mile long legs accidentally brushing against his. She didn’t give the bartender as much as a glance when he placed the new drink in front of her. She just let the fingers of her left hand come up to absentmindedly twirl around a lock of her hair, a move Dean had seen far too many times not to take as a hint of interest. 

“Hope you like Jack Daniel’s,” he said, receiving a self assured smirk in return.

“I have nothing against whiskey, if that is what you’re asking,” she said confidently.

Dean shrugged.

“Some girls are picky, just thought I’d give you a heads up.”

“That’s very nice of you.” She smiled, letting a crimson fingernail run along the edge of her glass. Dean smiled back.

“I do my best,” he confided humbly. “It’s not often that I get to be a gentleman.”

“Really?” she laughed. “You don’t look like the kind of guy who’s used to drinking alone.” She finished the sentence with a suggestive glance up and down his body; a look that Dean shamelessly returned.

“Now, what makes you say that?” he asked, narrowing his eyes at her in a mock squint.

“Being this handsome  _ and _ a gentleman, why should you be?” she smiled.

“I guess women these days aren’t looking for gentlemen,” Dean retorted calmly, lipping on his beer.

“Is that so?” Her voice dropped seductively at the same time as she quirked a slender eyebrow in ironic interest. “Then what are they looking for?”

“A good time, perhaps?” Dean looked into her eyes—hazel brown beneath black mascara— and held her gaze, falling into the steps of flirting as easily as he drove his own car. “What are  _ you _ looking for?”

“Who, me?” She laughed, making a light toss with her head that allowed her long hair to flow down one of her shoulders, exposing the delicate curve of her neck. “I’m always looking for a good time…” Their eyes locked “… provided I have the right partner,” she ended. 

“And how’s that search going for ya?” Dean grinned, picking up his shot glass.

“Oh, I have somebody in mind,” she drawled, and man, Dean felt like a piece of meat when those dark eyes dropped to roam over his body. A very willing piece.

“Lucky guy,” he smirked. “He must be a real catch?”

“He sure looks the part,” she agreed.

Dean grinned wider and tossed back his shot. As he put the glass back down, he saw how she picked up her own drink from the counter and mimicked his action, the tip of a pink tongue darting out to lick the last droplets from the inside of the glass. Man, this girl seemed to be all kinds of trouble… Not that Dean complained.

“You know…” she drawled, and Dean felt one of her high heeled feet come up to rub against the inside of his leg. “My place is just a few blocks away... If you’d like we could continue this conversation there?”

Dean pulled his wallet out of his back pocket with a smile, paged through a couple of bills and slid them across the countertop before getting up, offering her his hand.

“You lead the way, miss…?”

“Cassidy,” she answered, placing her hand in his with an amused glint in her eyes. “But my friends call me Cass.”

Feeling as if she had just smacked him across the head with a shovel, Dean did his best to keep smiling as he gestured for the door.

“Shall we then?”

/\/\/\

They had barely made it down the first block before Cassidy had him pinned against a wall, tongue shoved halfway down his throat with her body pressed against his as if she was trying to fuse them together through physical contact alone.

Dean was returning the favor as best he could, even though he felt a bit overwhelmed by the sudden attack. Cassidy was mewling against his neck; trailing open mouthed kisses all the way from the collar of his jacket up to his jaw. Somehow her hands had already found their way underneath his shirt and were now scratching blunt fingernails against his skin.

Dean closed his eyes and leaned back against the wall, trying his best not to imagine the body pressed flush against his to be a little less curvy, the hair a whole lot shorter, and the voice far deeper. 

When Cassidy proceeded to tongue at the lobe of his ear, he couldn’t help but feel as if he had just scored a date with catwoman; something that normally would have had him thanking his lucky stars, but right now only managed to make him feel incredibly awkward.

“You like this?” she purred against his jawline as he felt one of her legs sneak its way in between his. “You just wait until we get inside… I’ll have you screaming my name in no time.”

“Oh, that’s— That sounds awesome,” he stuttered, thinking to himself that at the moment, he would rather prefer not to. She looked up from the ministrations on his neck, and her eyes gleamed hungrily.

“Say it for me now,” she ordered, and Dean’s eyes flew open.

“What?”

“I want to hear you say my name,” she clarified, pinching one of his nipples roughly underneath his shirt.

“Ow!” He flinched, catching her hand through the fabric with a nervous chuckle. “Alright, alright. Just… Hold on there, Cassidy.”

She leaned in and tugged at his lower lip with her teeth.

“Say it like you mean it,” she breathed, returning to lick at his neck. Dean swallowed, closing his eyes as he tried again.

“Cassidy…” he said, although without much more enthusiasm than the first time.

“There’s no need to be formal…” She nipped at his pulse, which by now was racing, but not because of the reasons she thought. “Just call me Cass…”

_ Cas… _

His mind moaned the name, and the rush that went through his body as it did so made his hair stand on end. Same name; same sound, but oh so very, very different. 

“Cas…” The name fell from his lips so easily it scared him, but Cassidy didn’t seem to mind the sudden change of his tone.

“Again…” she murmured, lapping her tongue over his skin.

“Cas… Ah—” He gasped when he felt teeth bite down loosely just above his collar bone. ” _ Cas.. _ ”

All of a sudden, Dean was sweating. Panting and writhing against the cold brick wall while his body pulsed with a desire he had not felt in ages. 

It wasn’t like the thing he had experienced the night Castiel had grown his wings. That night Dean had been struck by lightning; sharp and sizzling like the electric shock of a stun gun. This was  _ thunder _ ; low and rumbling, travelling up and down his spine with the rolls of a bass drum. It made his stomach knot in a dozen different ways, of which he could identify none. 

“Cas… Fuck, Cas…” 

God, he couldn’t stop saying it! The name rolled off his tongue with such ease, and the very sound of it was intoxicating; hitting him up faster than any alcohol ever could. 

He could see the picture take form inside his head as clearly as if the angel had been standing right in front of him; dark hair, disheveled from tossing and turning, those blue eyes clenched shut in pleasure… Full lips open in a moan while a thin layer of sweat glistened over the tan skin of the other’s body… Oh, God, it was unbearable…! 

“ _ Cas… _ Holy shit…” 

He was falling apart, coming undone at the very thought of Castiel’s body against his, touching and feeling. And the wings… Fuck, those  _ wings…! _ The memory of them spanning across the ceiling of that dark motel room; so powerful, so  _ real _ . 

He wanted to touch them. Wanted to feel them drag over his skin, running hot all over his body… Cas… Castiel… On top of him, underneath him… To feel him moving… Feel his back arch, hear him gasp…!

Cassidy’s leg was rubbing against him now, hard and relentless, and he could feel himself tighten from the pressure, feel the barrier as it began to crumble and break. His hands shot up, grabbing hold of arms far too thin to belong to the angel inside his head, but the notion did nothing to stop the tidal wave from coming.

“Cassidy, wait…!” He gasped, trying to push her away. “You have to— You have to stop…! Oh, fuck… Oh, fuck, Cas…  _ Cas! _ ”

And then it was over. He was done for, and he clung to the syllable of the other’s name like a drowning man grappling at a life line. His body tensed up, and he felt the heat soak through his boxers as he came, hard and twitching inside his jeans.

The vision of Castiel’s face was burning on the inside of his eyelids, and Dean could have sworn that he heard the sound of rustling feathers as the final surge of his orgasm rolled through his limbs, sending them quaking.

His head was spinning when he finally came back down into himself, his head lolling back against the wall behind him with a mute thud. Fuck, that had to have been the best goddamn orgasm he had experienced in his whole life… Jesus Christ, how was that even possible…?

It wasn’t before he opened his eyes again that reality rushed back in to smack him square in the face. He swallowed down a hard gulp as he opened his eyes, being met with a disbelieving stare from the woman standing in front of him.

“What the hell was  _ that _ ?” she asked, not sounding at all impressed.

“Uhh…” Dean’s mouth obviously wasn’t functioning right, because that seemed to be the only sound it was capable of producing. Something Cassidy didn’t find amusing at all. 

“You know what, this was a mistake,” she snorted, pushing off the wall. “Thanks for the drink,  _ buddy _ .”

Turning on her heels, she started walking away, stomping down the street with her high-heeled shoes clicking furiously against the sidewalk, disappointment radiating all around her.

Dean tried to follow her, but his legs still weren’t prepared to let him leave his safe spot against the wall quite yet. He was left leaning against the bricks, chest heaving for air that still seemed reluctant to enter his lungs.

“Cassidy, I’m sorry…!” 

His yelled out apology earned him nothing but an outstretched middle finger and then Cassidy was gone. Turning around a corner, she disappeared from view, leaving Dean behind with soiled boxers and his pride shoved down somewhere far below the soles of his own boots.

/\/\/\/\/\/\

Castiel and Sam were asleep when he got back. The angel was lying face down on one of the beds, one of his wings draped over the edge of the mattress to fan out over the cheap linoleum floor. Dean only looked at him long enough to establish that it looked cute as hell and then he turned away with his heart pounding furiously inside his chest. 

What the hell was  _ wrong _ with him?!

He quickly locked himself in the bathroom, washing off the remains of cooling semen that had crusted over his skin on the walk back, feeling utterly humiliated. 

He hadn’t made a mess like this since he was thirteen, and even that incident had been something private between him and his first copy of Busty Asian Beauties. To lose control like this in what was supposed to be the prime of his life, and in front of a girl no less, was more than his pride should be able to handle…!

He pulled on a new pair of underwear with a snap of the waistband and then stood to glare at himself in the mirror.

“Okay… Now I’m only going to say this once.” He grabbed around the edges of the sink and leaned in on his own reflection “We. Are not. Gay.” Green eyes glared back at him, almost defiantly.

“You hear me?” he rasped. “Whatever this shit is, it has nothing to do with us  _ or _ Cas. We’re  _ fine _ .”

Unfortunately, the look he received in return from the mirror was anything but convincing.

/\/\/\/\/\/\

It took all the self-control Dean could muster in order for him to even look at Castiel the next morning. After the previous night, he felt rather proud of the fact that he could even remain in the same room as the other man, but to his dismay, the limit of his carefully assembled self-control was drawn only a few minutes after waking up. 

Castiel had greeted him with his usual ‘Good morning, Dean’ and all Dean had been able to bring forth was a strained smile and a nod before he had been forced to dive head first into the bathroom for a quick deliberation with his oncoming hard on.

The absurdity of the situation continued to increase when Cas, twenty minutes later, happened to get a dribble of Sam’s carrot purée on his finger. Dean had barely been able to hold back a whimper when the angel brought the digit to his mouth to absentmindedly lick the paste off. Even though he tried to stay calm, watching that darn thumb slide in between Castiel’s plump lips had ended up earning him nothing but another hasty visit to the bathroom.

The rest of the morning had continued in basically the same manner. When Castiel bent down to pick up Sam’s pacifier from the floor, Dean had been provided with an unobstructed view of the other man’s ass, causing a wave of inappropriate images to flood the insides of his skull. 

It wasn’t until Cas straightened back up and sent him a quizzical frown that Dean realized that he had been caught staring, and he quickly returned to the task of packing his duffel bag, ears glowing red and with a spike of arousal throbbing low in his gut. 

Needless to say, it was the worst morning of Dean’s life—or at least one of the top ten worst. 

He wasn’t looking forward in the slightest to spending the rest of the day trapped less than two feet away from Castiel inside the confinements of his car, but sadly, he didn’t have much of a choice.

They drove, the miles passing beneath the tires of the Impala in a blur of black asphalt. Dean did his best to keep his thoughts where they belonged, but no matter how hard he tried, he still found his eyes unconsciously drifting towards the passenger seat every other five minutes.

It was ridiculous, he decided, the way his heart could suddenly skip a beat inside his chest, simply because he managed to notice some detail in Castiel’s appearance that he hadn’t really paid attention to before.

Like the way that crooked, blue tie wound down the front of Castiel’s chest, rising and falling with each subtle intake of the angel’s breath. For some reason, that image made Dean’s fingers itch, much like the way the stubble of Castiel’s neck would brush against the white collar of his shirt when Cas turned his head to look out the window. 

He wasn’t even going to  _ think  _ about the other’s chiseled jawline, or the sharp angle of his cheekbones, or his eyelashes… No, it was  _ ridiculous _ !

He shouldn’t be so fascinated by the way the light from the outside reflected the purple and green hues of the angel’s wings, filling up the interior of the impala with flashing colors. Or the way the tendons in Castiel’s throat stretched when his head occasionally tipped back against the headrest. And especially not the way he kept his hands neatly folded in his lap while they drove; chaste and proper like a choir boy during mass, and yeah, wow, that thought  _ definitely  _ shouldn’t turn Dean on as much as it apparently did… 

Dean had come to the conclusion that the only  _ real  _ way to solve his problem would be to get as far away from Castiel as possible… but seeing as that wasn’t an option, all he could do was to simply sit there and endure the onslaught his sexually frustrated libido released upon his brain. 

Not even music would work as a distraction. All of a sudden it seemed like every single song in his collection featured nothing but sloppy, hungry kisses; sweat covered, writhing bodies entangled in sinfully sexual intimacy, and other morally absent activities that weren’t helping his imagination one bit.

He knew that he technically should just shut up and be grateful for the fact that Castiel still hadn’t felt the need to pick his brain, or literally read his thoughts for that matter. 

Even Dean realized that his behaviour must look pretty darn suspicious by now, and he was literally just  _ waiting  _ for Castiel to turn towards him at any second and ask him what was wrong.

Castiel never did, however, and after two hours of silent driving Dean came to the conclusion that Castiel was actually being unusually quiet… Not that he was such a chatterbox normally, but this new silence was different.  _ Heavier,  _ somehow…  

The angel spent most of the time staring out his window, or into the thin air in front of him, completely lost in thought. There was a tension to his jaw, as if he was biting the inside of his cheeks, and Dean was also painfully aware of the way he would sometimes pull at his lower lip with his teeth, sending Dean’s sex drive shooting through the roof. 

Sometimes he would close his eyes and sigh deeply, as if he was trying to concentrate on something tremendously elusive. Other times he would just sit there quietly, making Dean wondering if he was practicing some freaky form of angel-meditation or if he had simply fallen asleep…   

When lunchtime came around they stopped for drive through at a local diner, where Dean ordered one of the best burgers he had ever tasted. They parked the car underneath the shade of a large oak tree a few miles out of town, keeping Castiel’s wings away from the prying eyes of the public, and Dean promptly dug into his food with a vigor that could only belong to a starving Winchester.

Dean was uncomfortably aware of the fact that Castiel was watching him eat. Castiel had refused Dean to buy him anything back at the diner, yet now he was staring openly as Dean brought one french fry after another to his mouth, looking like a man on the brink of starvation.

A part of Dean was trying to come up with a subtle way to make the other stop gawking, but instead that little voice that had taken up residence inside his head during the past few days told him to shut the fuck up and take advantage of the situation. 

Without realizing it, his hand slowed down on the way to his mouth, and instead of shoving the entire fry into his mouth, he let it slide over his lower lip before languidly licking off the salt with the tip of his tongue. 

It was a scene that could have been taken straight out of any budget porno flick in history, but apparently it was a move that the angel had not come across before. Castiel’s pupils dilated, wings puffing up along the ridge like the back of a frightened cat, and Dean could hear the hiss of the angel’s sharply inhaled breath clearly in the silent space between them.

He didn’t want to react to the situation the way he did, but seeing how Castiel was looking at him right now, he just couldn’t help himself. The temptation was simply too strong; just seeing what his tongue on a piece of a deep fried potato slice could do, and then imagining what kinds of delicious reactions it would be able to coax out if placed elsewhere… 

As an experiment, he dipped a new fry into the little complimentary cup of barbeque sauce and brought the piece up to his lips. Without even bothering to put it inside his mouth, he then proceeded to stick his tongue out and lick the sauce off before slowly sliding it in between his lips with a low hum.

He could barely stand to watch it when Castiel’s mouth fell open. The sight of the angel’s tortured expression would have been downright painful to witness if it hadn’t been for the overwhelming surge of power Dean felt at that very same moment, seeing the other’s composure unravel at the seams just by the work of Dean’s mouth on a piece of a cooked vegetable.

It struck him then, like lightning from the sky, that what he was witnessing here was Castiel looking  _ aroused _ , and God help him, he actually  _ liked  _ it.  

“Cas…” he murmured, but there was no reaction from the other man.

“Hey, Cas,” he repeated, louder, and Castiel jumped in his seat as if Dean had poked him with a blade, eyes flashing up to Dean’s face in flustered panic.

“Dozing off a little there, buddy?” Dean smiled, watching as Castiel tried to regain some of his composure by flattening his tie against his chest, looking away.

“My thoughts were… occupied elsewhere,” he grated. “Apologies.”

“Yeah, I could see that…” Dean purred before his head had the time to catch up with his mouth, making Castiel turn back around to stare at him. 

For the first time in almost two days, their eyes met, and Dean could feel his stomach tighten when that ethereal blue gaze locked onto his. The thought of leaning over and pulling the other in for a kiss by the collar flashed through his mind, and as if agreeing with his thoughts, Castiel groaned breathlessly from his side of the seat. 

The sound travelled down Dean’s spine like the zing of a lightning bolt and settled in his crotch with a dull throb. Castiel swallowed hard, causing a tremble that made his wings quiver, and this time it was Dean’s quiet moan that erupted the silence. 

It would be so easy… Just a few inches, and he would be able to feel the taste of angel on his lips… It would be so  _ easy…  _

He felt warm; almost feverish, and his heart was beating like crazy. It was making his head reel, bringing a haze to his vision and then, just like that, it was over.

Suddenly Castiel was up and out of the car before Dean had been given a chance to even react. Dean was about to call him back, but the words died somewhere between his lungs and his lips on the way out. Instead, he got to sit there and watch the angel stride across the ditch at the side of the road, disappearing into the woods without a word.

Dean fell back into his seat with a helpless whimper, realizing what exactly he had just done. What he had been so threateningly close to  _ do. _

What the fuck was  _ happening _ to him?!

/\/\/\/\/\/\

Thirty minutes later Castiel came back, seemingly appearing beside Dean without as much as a sound.

Dean was sitting on the hood of the Impala when the angel returned, feet propped up on the bumper and with his elbows braced against his knees. One would perhaps have expected the Winchester to make a startled jump, or give the angel a reprimand for sneaking up on him like that, but Dean did neither. 

The other’s presence had been obvious to him long before Cas had even gotten out from the shadows beneath the trees; that invisible hook that pulled inside his gut whenever Castiel was close having tipped him off. 

He had been able tell that Castiel was coming back several minutes ago. It had started like an itch underneath his skin; one that had built, and built, until it literally tore at him from the inside out. 

There was no pain, just  _ craving _ ; a longing  _ need  _ to be even  _ closer _ , and it pulled and gnawed into his subconscious with a vigor that left him feeling lightheaded. As of now, he could no longer decide if he hated the sensation, or if he wanted to drown himself in it.

“Are you okay?” he asked without turning his head, avoiding the other’s gaze to the best of his ability. 

He wasn’t sure what would happen if those blue eyes were to meet with his once more; fearing that the desperate plea he’d find in them would be enough to make him lose his composure altogether.

He could hear Castiel shift his weight from one foot to the other, his wings whispering softly in the light breeze. 

“I’m fine,” he mumbled. “I just— I needed to stretch my legs…”

Dean heard the stutter in Castiel’s voice, but he didn’t comment on it. There was a tension in the air between them that felt like a steel spring ready to snap, but Dean was not about to raise the subject unless Cas did it first.

Instead he slid off the hood of the car and walked around the front, opening up the driver side door.

“You ready to go?” he asked across the top of the car, still without looking up. 

He heard Castiel mumble a low ‘ _ Yes _ ’ as the other climbed into the passenger seat, and thirty seconds later, they were back on the road; silence hanging heavy like a storm cloud inside the car.

/\/\/\/\/\/\

The rest of the day passed excruciatingly slowly. 

Dean did his best to concentrate on the road,  _ nothing _ but the road, but it was getting harder with every passing second that he had to spend in such close proximity with the man beside him. 

He was becoming hypersensitive, and his body responded to literally  _ everything _ ; from the soft creak of leather when the angel shifted in his seat, to the faint flutter of feathers moving in the breeze from the air vent. 

Not even Sammy’s occasional tantrums from the backseat, or the seemingly never ending requirements of diaper changes and food breaks, did anything to break the flow of arousal inside his body.

Whenever Cas made a movement larger than tilting his head, Dean would feel his own heart skip a beat inside his chest, followed by the indescribable urge to reach out and  _ touch  _ while his body flushed with heat that threatened to burn straight through his clothes.

It was torture. Hour upon hour passed, and Dean’s hands were slipping on the steering wheel, he was sweating so hard. He kept on repeating to himself that once they got back to Bobby’s place, things would get better. He would be able to lock himself away from the angel’s presence and perhaps  _ then  _ this fucked up shit would go away. They just needed to get to Bobby’s, that’s all they had to do. He just had to make it until they got to Bobby’s…!

Though, in spite of his efforts, they still had at least half a day’s journey left to go when night fell.

Dean’s head was spinning on at least a dozen axles, and the headlights of the cars passing them blinded him to the point where he simply didn’t bother squinting anymore. He just shut his eyes completely until the burning whiteness disappeared, not caring how reckless it was. 

His head was pounding, his clothes were soaked in sweat, and to his dismay they hadn’t seen a single motel or even a town for several miles. Judging by the black, lightless horizon ahead, he also realized that they weren’t likely to come across one anytime soon either… 

“Looks like Baby will have to do tonight,” he muttered, trying to sound cheerful, but failing horribly.

Castiel glanced at him from his seat, but he didn’t say anything. Dean tried to ignore how thick the air got the moment the angel’s eyes settled on him, but it was nearly impossible. Every look from Castiel made him feel like he was having a shivering fit and it took all he had to keep his teeth from clattering loudly when the now so familiar tremors began rolling through his body yet again.

It didn’t take him long to find a small dirt road which lead them off the asphalt and onto gravel, winding through the countryside. They drove until they hit a small huddle of trees, and after having deemed it safe enough not to get disturbed by any other cars, Dean put the Impala into park and turned off the ignition.

“G’night,” he grumbled, quickly settling into his seat. He turned his back against the angel, pretending that he didn’t notice that Castiel had opened his mouth to say something. 

Whatever it was, Dean didn’t want to hear it. Castiel hadn’t spoken since the incident with the french fries, and Dean was more than convinced that should he hear Cas utter as much as a gravelly ‘hello’ right now, Dean would end up creaming his pants without a second’s notice.

Castiel’s voice was the  _ last  _ thing his libido needed right now, and he had no intentions whatsoever to get himself involved with anything that meant getting closer to the warm, feather crowned, suit clothed body next to him. 

He hid his trembling hands away underneath his jacket, clutching hard around his chest where his heart was currently trying to pound a hole through his ribs. He felt feverish, delirious,  _ sick _ , but in such a way that he wasn’t really sure if he actually wanted to get better.

“Dean.” 

Oh, no. Oh, sweet Jesus, that voice did things to Dean’s body that he had been positive only a thousand dollar hooker would be able to pull off…! 

“Hmm?” he murmured, pretending that he was halfway asleep already, when in reality he had never felt so awake in his life.

“We need to talk.”

“Can’t it wait until morning?” Dean groaned. “I wanna sleep.”

“I’m afraid it can’t.” Castiel cleared his throat. “There’s something I’ve been meaning to tell you…”

“You sound like something straight out of a chick flick,” Dean grimaced against the crook of his own shoulder. 

“Chickens have nothing to do with this.”

“Chick—Dude,  _ what _ ?” Dean winced, but when he turned around, he found to his surprise that Castiel wasn’t wearing the normal, quizzical head tilt that Dean had been expecting. 

As a matter of fact, if Dean had to pick a word for it, he would have said that Cas looked… sad?

“Dean… I’m so sorry.” Castiel’s voice was low, tired, and yet the mere sound of it made Dean’s very toes curl with pure exhilaration.

“Sorry?” he managed to get out; his attention torn between confusion and arousal. “About what?”

Castiel’s gaze dropped to the side and Dean’s brain went into high alert. He had come to learn the hard way that whenever Castiel did  _ that, _ it was never a good sign.

“Cas,” he said, harder. “Sorry about  _ what? _ ”.

“For the other night,” Cas started carefully. “At the motel, when I released my wings, I— I wasn’t thinking when I allowed you to come into such close proximity to them.”

The way he hesitated when he said it made Dean’s heart race with suspicion, but he still managed to keep his voice steady when he answered.

“Oh, so what?” he snorted, trying to sound cocky. “You electrocuted me a few times. Nothing I can’t handle.”

“ _ Dean _ .”

Dean’s jaw shut with a faint click of teeth when Castiel’s gaze suddenly turned towards him again, and the way those blue eyes locked onto his sent a flash of foreboding doom down Dean’s spine. Cas was looking at him as if… as if he—  

_ Oh, please, no _ …

“I know what happened, Dean.”

“W—what are you talking about?” Dean could barely form the words, his tongue suddenly bone dry inside his mouth. Even his body was visibly shaking now, though he tried his best to stifle it.

Castiel’s wings rustled as the angel turned in his seat to face him, and Dean couldn’t help but to stare at them, almost expecting them to launch forward in attack at any given moment. 

Castiel followed his gaze, and when he saw where the panicked look was directed he slowly folded the limbs away, like a criminal putting away a gun, his face pained and apologetic.

“Dean,” he said. “I never meant— I didn’t think that my grace would react to your body in that way. The last time it came in such raw contact with you was in Hell. Even though I should have known that it wouldn’t be the same now when you’re in your corporeal body, I never suspected—” He cut himself off with a dejected sigh. 

“Of course,” he continued. “Like this in hindsight, I suppose it only makes sense that the sensation chose to manifest itself differently.”

He looked up, meeting Dean’s gaze with a near painful reluctance.

“That night, I heard you get up, but it wasn’t until I felt your soul surge from climax that I understood—”

“Oh,  _ God _ …” Dean winced. Embarrassment clawed inside his chest, and he turned his eyes to the ceiling, not knowing where else to look. 

“I also heard you last night,” Castiel continued, sounding about as reluctant to continue as Dean felt. “It sounded like a prayer,” he said quietly. “I though that you might be in trouble so I ventured outside to find you and… I saw you with that… woman. I heard—”

Dean’s throat let out a whimper, and he covered his eyes with his hand, wishing for this nightmare to end quickly before he decided to kill himself.

“I have caused you discomfort,” Castiel professed, talking faster, as if he could spare Dean the pain by finishing his sentences quicker. 

“Words are not enough to express how sorry I am, but you should know that you have in no way defiled me, or our relationship. It was a reaction that  _ I _ caused, and the fact that you wanted more is nothing you should hold against yourself. There is no shame in you thinking about me like that while appeasing your human urges. It is not to be considered a sin, nor a moral violation.”

Dean snapped his eyes away from the interior of the car and stared at the angel in disbelief as his brain slowly processed what he had just heard. 

“You son of a bitch…!” he gritted out. “Are you saying that you’ve been eavesdropping on my thoughts this whole time?!”

“I didn’t have to,” Castiel retorted dryly, clearly not liking the accusation in Dean’s voice. “Your thoughts were screaming loud enough for every angel in Heaven to hear. I’ve been having you practically yelling inside my head for the past two days.” 

“You mean that you  _ knew _ ?” Dean choked. “You  _ knew  _ all this time and you didn’t  _ say  _ anything? What the hell, Cas!”

“I realize that you’re upset,” Castiel answered. “But I did not do this to you on purpose.” He paused, frowning. “And I am not a pervert, nor am I lying.” 

“Get  _ out  _ of my goddamn head!” 

“I  _ can’t! _ ”

In the back seat, Sam made a low, disgruntled noise in his sleep. The two men stilled abruptly, glancing back at the sleeping child for a few seconds before coming to a silent agreement and climbing out of the car. 

Dean slammed his car door shut and fisted his hair with both hands, pacing back and forth a few steps before turning around to face the other once more.

“I can’t believe you.” He struggled with the words. “How  _ could _ you? This is—” He cut himself off. To be honest, he wasn’t even sure himself what this was. 

On the other side of the car, Castiel looked as if he was trying to decide whether he should come closer or stay put, his wings drooping with their tips dragging along the ground.

“Dean, I’m sorry,” he pleaded.

“Well, you should be!” Dean snarled back.

“You didn’t do anything wrong.” Castiel began walking around the front of the car, but stopped when Dean took a wary step back, meeting him with a glare.

“You’re damn right I didn’t do anything wrong,” he growled. “You’re the one who had to get all touchy with those…  _ things. _ ” He gestured to the dark wings on Castiel’s back, not caring about the hurt look the other got from the verbal demotion. 

“I thought I was going  _ crazy _ ,” Dean went on, feeling the anger rise the more he thought about it. “First I have to deal with the fact that my brother’s been cursed by some freaky mutant witch, but now  _ this _ ?”

“I did what I could to save your brother,” Castiel defended himself, but Dean just snorted.

“Yeah, and what a bang up job that turned out to be,” he snarled. “Honestly, if it hadn’t been for you, none of this would have ever happened in the first place.” 

He knew that it was an unfair thing to say, but he couldn’t help it. He was panicking; all the confusion and frustration from the past few days drawing together to form a storm inside his chest. This was his outlet. Right here, right now. 

“Everything would have been  _ normal! _ ” he yelled, his voice almost cracking. “Sam wouldn’t have been turned into a freaking infant; you’d be back in Heaven, and _ I _ would be  _ normal! _ If it wasn’t for  _ you _ , I wouldn’t have to deal with this  _ shit! _ ”

“You think you’re the only one who’s been  _ dealing? _ ” Castiel snapped. Dean staggered backwards, losing the tread of his rant as pitch-black wings flared out behind the angel’s back, rustling with anger. 

He tried to meet the glower out of Castiel’s eyes the best he could, but he couldn’t help but to feel his knees sway beneath his weight when Castiel took a step towards him, eyes narrowing.

“The thought already crossed your mind, didn’t it?” he asked. “That I’ve been  _ wanting _ this just as badly as you have.”

He stepped even closer, and Dean instinctively backed up against the Impala, realizing too late that by doing so he had efficiently managed to trapped himself between the angel and the cool metal of his car.

Castiel came up to stand right in front of him, their chests almost touching. Dean could hear the whispering sound of feathers rustling, and even though it took him a moment, something in his subconscious eventually made the connection. 

Cas was shaking. 

“You humans…” the angel hissed. “So fanatic about labelling and dividing everything into your insignificant little groups… As if the order of the world depended on it. As if it would make a  _ difference _ . You’re all so caught up in your own fabricated rules and regulations that if you take a single step out of the box, you’ll lose your precious composure altogether.”

“Well, look who’s talking about breaking the rules,” Dean snarled. He regretted the words the very moment they left his mouth, but it was too late. Castiel’s fist came shooting out and grabbed him by the front of his jacket, forcing him to arch his upper back over the top of the car.

“I did that for  _ you,  _ you ungrateful bastard,” he spat. “And I would do it all again if you asked me to. Even if you still wouldn’t grant me as much of a scrap of appreciation for it.” 

He released his grip on Dean’s clothes, and Dean slumped down against the door panel, chest heaving. Castiel’s grip had been nowhere near his throat, yet he suddenly found it so incredibly hard to breathe. 

Castiel was looking at him, brow furrowed with a mix of frustrated anger and apologetic regret.

“Please, Dean,” he begged. “You must understand, I—” 

The angel’s voice suddenly cracked, and Dean’s gasped when the Castiel grabbed hold of his forearms, pinning him against the car once more by leaning in to rest his forehead against Dean’s shoulder.

Had it been any other day, Dean would have found the intimate position awkward and ridiculous, but this was not any other day. Dean was too busy trying to stop himself from shaking to be bothered by what they must look like where they stood; like a couple embracing each other by the roadside. The fever inside his body was scorching him, and his pulse roared inside his head, head spinning and knees trembling. Oh God, he felt like he was dying!

“I’ve tried not to think about it…” Castiel whispered, making goosebumps rise on the skin of Dean’s neck when the gush of the other’s breath rushed over it.

“I’ve  _ tried _ , but I keep hearing your voice inside my head, constantly, and you’re  _ begging me _ , Dean. You’re begging me to touch you… To  _ feel  _ you…” 

Dean swallowed hard, struggling to find his voice. 

This was too dangerous. Castiel was too close, too fucking close, and Dean was  _ burning _ . 

So what if Castiel had been feeling all that freaky stuff too, it didn’t matter, it was  _ crazy _ . It didn’t mean that Castiel had wanted to— That he had  _ enjoyed _ feeling like that. He probably found the attraction towards Dean to be disturbing. The dude was an  _ angel _ ; he wasn’t supposed to like sex at all!  

Castiel’s mouth moved, and Dean shivered as he felt air ghost against the shell of his ear.

“ _ You’re wrong... _ ” 

Dean wanted to tell Cas to stay the fuck out of his head, but instead he felt his eyes flutter closed, realizing with a hitch of his breath that there was nothing he could do to stop them from doing so.

That same, strange something from before seared around him, inside him, and he couldn’t keep his body from reacting to it. He almost moaned out loud when he heard Castiel let out a wounded whimper against his collar; a noise that, to Dean, sounded more like a predatory growl. It shot straight down to settle in his groin, flooding his senses in hot, white waves.

“The temptation alone,” Castiel whispered. “The lure of having you this close…” 

Dark feathers shifted as Castiel curled his wings forward, halting them in front of Dean’s face to slide them along his skin, all without touching it. Dean could feel the surge they caused as it pulled through his entire body, making him physically sway. It was maddening, and this time he couldn’t help but groan as the need to lean into that velvety touch threatened to overwhelm him.

“I’m trying to fight this, Dean,” Castiel breathed. “This feeling… It’s tearing me apart, I can’t—”

He let out a shaky breath and then Dean collapsed against the side of the car when Castiel stepped back, hands coming up to cover his eyes as his wings drew back, visibly trembling.

“Forgive me,” he pleaded, turning away. “I should never have— I’m sorry.”

Dean didn’t know what to say. Hell, his legs were barely even functioning, it wasn’t as if he could expect his brain to do much better.

A loaded silence lowered itself over them, but inside his head, Dean was screaming.

His body was tingling with excitement, and if this was even remotely like what Castiel was feeling, then Dean actually felt sorry for the guy. He wanted to touch the other man so badly, his entire body was aching for it. For dark velvet against his palms, lips against his mouth. In his mind he could see himself walk up to fist his hands amongst those black feathers, feel the rush of grace as he simply gave in and allowed the need to take him over, and—

“Dean _ , please…! _ ” Castiel moaned. Dean knew that it was meant to make him stop thinking about things like that, but it still came out like a plea for him to do the exact opposite.

“Goddamn it,” he hissed, prying his thoughts away from all the wonderful, horrible things his body wanted him to do. “What the hell is happening to us?” 

“I don’t know. It’s not supposed to—” Castiel cleared his throat, trying to get rid of the throaty rasp that had snuck its way into it. “Humans can get a sense of exhilaration from an angel’s grace at most, but considering that mine has been diminished I don’t think that’s what’s happening here.” He shook his head. “This is different, this is…  _ stronger _ .”

A tremor shot through Dean’s body at the coarse way Castiel said that last word, but he managed to suppress the thoughts welling up inside his head, trying to think about something other than to touch and feel for just a few seconds.

“I don’t get it,” he groaned. “Even when your mojo was up to speed this never happened. Why would it start now when you’re basically wrung dry?”

Castiel snapped his head back up, staring at him with wide eyes.

“Of course,” he breathed, but then a deep frown marred his marvelled expression. “I should have foreseen that.” 

“Foreseen what?” 

“Undoubtedly, the remaining grace in your body is trying to return to its original vessel.”

“Come again?”

Castiel winced, as if he was being asked to explain nuclear physics to a child. Dean would have gotten pissed at that, if it hadn’t been for the fact that he was currently having a hard time even focusing his eyes on the angel before him; the heat in his veins making it hard to even think.

“When I revived you, your body had been dead for six months,” Castiel explained. ”Before I could put your soul back I had to replenish it and I used my grace to do so. I also left some of it behind to make the transition from dead to alive smoother for you.”

“You call waking up buried in a coffin  _ smooth _ ?”  

“A minor miscalculation,” Castiel glowered.

“Alright, alright,” Dean grated. “So I have your Grace inside me…” There was a soft tingle at the base of his spine at the words, his brain immediately sliding off track to more carnal imagery before he managed to force it back on track with a violent snap. 

“Your Grace inside me,” he repeated firmly. “And now it’s trying to get back because it can feel that your meter’s running low?”

“Yes.”

“So I’m fine?” Dean pushed. “I’m not gay? Not that there’s anything wrong with being that,” he added quickly when noting the disapproving look he received from the angel in return. 

“There’s nothing wrong with you,” Castiel said simply. “It’s the bond between your soul and my Grace from when I pulled you out of The Pit that intensifies the connection between us.”

“Well, when you put it  _ that  _ way it doesn’t sound freaky at all,” Dean muttered sarcastically before pinching the bridge of his nose, attempting to sort the situation out. “So your grace and my soul wants us to get friendly with each other, is that what you’re saying?”

“Yes,” Cas agreed, clearing his throat one more time. 

“And how long will it be until it gives up and things go back to normal?”

Castiel shrugged.

“A few days, a month...” He threw his hands out to the sides. “Time is relative. As things are now I can’t even return to heaven, no matter which form I take, so my recovery rate is limited.” He looked at Dean, almost hesitantly. “However…” he mumbled. “The grace I left behind in your molecular structure has obviously found a way to channelize back through physical proximity. The remaining grace inside my vessel can feel its presence and beckons for it. In such a way, being close to you… invigorates me.”

Dean thought about the statement for a few seconds, allowing the meaning behind it to settle completely before he spoke.

“So…” he said slowly. “We can either try to wait  _ this _ …” He gestured back and forth between them. “…out, for whatever time it takes, or we could simply…”  

“… let things run their course,” Castiel finished. “Something like that, yes.”

God, Dean could have given anything to say that he wasn’t tempted by the offer, but he was. Oh, sweet lord, he was…  

He licked his lips. Castiel’s eyes caught on to the movement and followed it, as if spellbound, while the feathers at the crest of his wings puffed themselves up in a way that Dean for some reason found to be obscenely sexy.

“Would you— I mean, would that be… okay?” Dean whispered, noticing how those blue eyes snapped back from his lips and up to his eyes when he spoke, and the raw lust he saw in them made his stomach swirl.

“It would be more efficient,” Castiel whispered, taking a step closer.

“It would…” Dean echoed, nodding breathlessly.

“My grace would return faster.” 

Another step.

“Yeah…” Dean swallowed. “Yeah, I guess so.”

A part of him was panicking. He should just stop the fuck agreeing and tell Cas what a shitty idea that was, but another, much stronger part of him immediately smothered that thought with a single, yearning ‘ _ yes! _ ’. 

He wanted, and he didn’t care why or how; not now when the release he had been searching for was right here in front of him, all eager and willing.

The space between their bodies decreased even further when Castiel took a third step towards him, but just when Dean expected Castiel to close the gap—those few eluding centimeters that remained between them—the angel stopped. His face was pained, haunted, and Dean swore, had never wanted to kiss someone this badly in his life.

“I can’t…” Castiel whispered, and his voice was strained with the effort it cost him to even form the words. “It wouldn’t be right… For me to take advantage of you like this—”

He shifted his weight, beginning to step back, but that was about as far as he got.

Before Castiel’s foot had even left the ground, Dean’s hands had shot out to fist in the front of the angel’s trench coat, pulling him back in with a low snarl. Castiel stumbled, gasping in shock when Dean smashed their lips together, and Dean could feel the quake of the other’s limbs travel through to his own body when Castiel slumped against his chest. 

Dean slipped his tongue in between Castiel’s parted lips, relishing in the embarrassingly loud moan that wrenched itself out of the angel’s mouth as he did so, deepening the kiss until he felt as if his lungs were going to burst from the lack of oxygen. Tightening his grip on the other’s coat, he reached out with his free hand, groping blindly until he felt his fingers curl around the thick plumes behind the angels back, causing Castiel to tear away from the kiss with a strangled cry.

Dean heard his own name, but he was too busy staying conscious through the onslaught of sensations that crashed through his system to pay it any heed. 

It was unbearable. It was horrible. It was wonderful and painfully good, oh so good! His body tensed as his hips thrusted again nothing but thin air, but the lack of friction didn’t matter. He was in and over long before he had even been given the chance to anticipate it. 

The hand in Castiel’s coat shot up to clasp hard around the frame of the other wing, pulling their bodies closer to crash their mouths together once more. Castiel choked, his helpless cry turning into a garbled moan that fanned over Dean’s lip. Dean felt the desperate scratch of blunt fingernails claw over his chest through his jacket and then he was gone, gone, gone; scorching hot grace filling up his vision, his body, his  _ everything…! _

He blacked out, and when he came to Castiel was leaning heavily against his shoulder, panting and gasping while his wings slumped down in exhaustion behind his back, heaving in time with the angel’s ragged breaths.

Dean realized with a sharp pang of guilt that his hands were still tightly clenched around the frame of Castiel’s wings. He slowly eased up on the grip, feeling Castiel’s breath shudder against his neck as he let go, although, Dean concluded, not in a painful way. 

He glanced down at himself, almost expecting to see a big wet stain on the front of his jeans from the massive load he must have released into his boxers. For the second time in less than 24 hours, no less. Damn it… 

Slowly, Castiel untangled himself from Dean’s body and straightened. Ruffling his feathers, he then smoothed them down before folding the large wings neatly behind his back. The sight made Dean snort out a laugh—Castiel looked like a cat that had just gotten its fur rumpled; all affronted poise and disgruntled dignity.

“You know, one of these days I might actually smite you for thinking things like that,” Castiel scolded, not even bothering to look at him as he said it.

“Guess you better stop poking around inside my head then,” Dean quipped, quirking a brow.

“Unlikely,” Castiel snorted. “Being able to read your mind is the only advantage I have nowadays.” He looked up at Dean, suddenly serious.

“You didn’t have to do what you just did. I want you to know that I am grateful for it.”

“Yeah, because orgasms have always been such an ordeal for me,” Dean retorted, sarcasm dripping of his tongue. Castiel gave him a long look.

“I expected you to feel more…violated?” he asked, tilting his head to the side, and Dean shrugged in response.

“You and me both,” he confessed.

“That is quite confusing, considering the effort you have put down in order to avoid this.”

Dean swallowed.

“Why I— I mean, I— I thought that we’d have to… You know…” He let the stuttering sentence trail of, feeling the heat rise on his cheeks. Castiel squinted at him for a several, excruciatingly long seconds before he, to Dean’s great relief, finally understood what the human was trying to convey.

“You thought that we would have to engage in sexual intercourse,” he declared, eyes widening.

“Basically, yeah.” Dean cleared his throat with a slight cough. “I mean, with the way my body’s been acting up, I—”

“Your body reacts with physical arousal because it is the closest it can ever come to grasping the full context of angelic grace. My vessel does the same.”

The mental image of Castiel, walking around town while sporting a raging hard on in his slacks flashed through Dean’s mind, making him feel oddly flustered. Castiel responded to his thoughts by giving him a steady, reprimanding look.

“I’m flattered by your imagination, Dean,” he said. “Though I’m afraid I’m going to have to disappoint you. That kind of exhilaration does not apply to me.”

“Shut up,” Dean spluttered, ears glowing red. “We both know that you’re fully capable of racking up a boner. Or have you forgotten about the pizza man already?” 

“I am.” There was almost a hint of pride in the angel’s voice. “And I have not forgotten, but in contraire to you, the grace flowing through my system is my own, and so I don’t need the physical release that your body craves to deal with it.”

“But I thought you said that you were feeling…  _ stuff  _ too?” Dean objected. “And I saw the way you looked at me earlier today, you can’t possibly tell me that wasn’t you pining.”

“I’m not denying that I feel physically attracted to you,” Castiel corrected. “But I don’t need to physically orgasm in order to keep the grace from burning through my vessel. Unlike yourself.”

Dean’s face paled.

“What?” 

Castiel looked surprised.

“I thought you were aware?” he said, head tilting. “The fever? Your dizziness? The uneven heartbeat? That’s the grace struggling to leave your body. Unfortunately,” he added, “by doing so, it also causes your body to slowly implode on itself in the process…”

Dean stilled, realizing with a start that his fever was indeed gone. As if the grace had washed it right out of his system as it spiked through him just now.

“Well, I felt feverish alright, but I thought—” He cut himself off and stared at Castiel, eyes blown wide with realization.

“Hold on, are you saying that this could have _killed_ _me?_ ”

“Had you not granted it release?” Castiel asked. “In time, yes.”

“Wow,” Dean slumped back against the car with a glare. “Thanks for the heads up there, buddy.” 

Castiel frowned, obviously not understanding why Dean’s mood had suddenly taken such an abrupt turn towards testy, and Dean sighed in defeat, folding his arms over his chest. He was way too tired to get into another fight right now anyway. 

“So… what’s the plan?” he asked instead. “Is there like, a schedule or something? How often are we going to have to do this exactly?”

“As often as it takes,” Castiel declared, although not sounding quite as assertive as Dean would have hoped.

“Wow,” he muttered. “I feel so much better already…”

“Dean.”

“I know, I know… But you have to admit that this is some pretty fucked up shit.”

Castiel shook his head, sighing.

“You are uncomfortable with the thought of being close to another male body in that manner, I know that,” he said, “but if you wish to stay alive during the time it takes for my grace to restore itself, then this is necessary.”

“Thanks, I’m perfectly aware of that,” Dean grumbled.

“Does that mean that we have reached an agreement, then?” 

Dean glared at the angel, who responded by simply looking back at him expectantly.

Dean knew that he should be feeling both exploited and violated about this whole thing, but then again, if he looked back on all the other fucked up things he had done in his life… 

To be perfectly truthful, during the past five years he had successfully managed to sell his soul to hell, gotten resurrected from the dead, flipped an archangel the finger, and even averted a pending apocalypse that he himself had caused in the first place.

In comparison to those things, celestial orgasms honestly didn’t sound all that bad.

Needless to say, the events that had taken place during the past 48 hours had been overwhelming, to say the least. He wasn’t ready to go into the details of the various things his body had been willing to do—was  _ still _ willing to do—but… If receiving regular angel-powered orgasms was the only thing keeping him alive…?

“Alright.” He threw his arms out in surrender. “I’m not saying I’m one hundred percent comfortable with this, but I guess I don’t have much of a choice.”

He grimaced, flexing his leg uncomfortably.  

“Now, if Your Grace won’t mind, I think I need to change my clothes and get some sleep.” 

He gestured towards the car and Castiel nodded, pretending he hadn’t heard the wordplay Dean just threw at him.

“That is probably a good idea,” he agreed.

Dean retrieved a new pair of underwear from his backpack in the trunk and swiftly changed behind the car while Castiel politely looked the other way. 

“So…” he asked, once he reemerged from behind Baby’s rear once more. “You wanna stay out here for a while, or…?” 

“Yes,” Castiel answered, looking up at the sky. “It’s a nice night. And I prefer the open sky.”

Dean nodded. He licked his lips and then quietly climbed in behind the wheel, but poked his head back out one final time before he closed the door.

“Hey… I was thinking…” He cleared his throat, trying to sound unfazed. ”There’s no reason for us to tell Bobby about this, right?”

Castiel shook his head reassuringly.

“No. There is not.”

Dean sighed, visibly relieved. 

“Good…” he nodded. “That’s… great.”

Castiel watched the other as he nestled into the driver’s seat, and then he turned around to look up at the sky again, trying to still the vicious hammering of the heart inside his chest.

He could hear the thoughts spinning inside Dean’s head—the dazzling mix of confusion, desire, fear, and pride. His grace stirred in response, thrumming a steady beat through his vessel’s veins, making it very hard to keep his eyes focused on the glimmering stars above. 

His entire being was calling out for the grace still residing inside Dean Winchester’s body, but he willed it to quiet. He couldn’t allow these urges to get the better of him. He had to stay strong, for Dean’s sake. 

Even though he knew that he had technically just been offered an opportunity to relieve himself from the physical craving caused by Dean’s proximity, he had not taken it. As he had told Dean earlier, he should not require it in order to receive the grace coming from the other’s body, and so he had forced himself to hold back. In reality, he would gladly have thrown himself over Dean just like his body begged him to, but he hadn’t, because he wasn’t sure if that’s what  _ Dean _ would have wanted him to.

Dean’s body was more than willing, but Castiel had heard the panic and the fear that had coursed through the other man’s head just minutes before, first hand. It was true that Dean might not ever forgive him, should he allow himself to lose control, but that was nothing compared to the resentment Castiel would hold against himself. No, Dean was off limits. At least until Dean himself said otherwise. 

Still, even though Castiel was doing his best to restrain himself, this new need for physical release was like torture; an unexplored addiction that he had never experienced before in his time of existence, and he  _ wanted _ it.

He had endured the sight and feel of Dean’s soul calling out to him in euphoria for the span of almost two weeks already. From the very moment he woke up after the Grýla’s attack, long before Dean had even laid hands on his wings, and the walls he had worked so hard to raise against his carnal urges had now begun to crumble from the pressure.

He could feel the muscles in his stomach tighten at the uninvited, yet insistent thought of Dean’s fingers touching him again—willingly and affectionately—and his hands curled into trembling fists by his sides. 

No, he thought. No, tomorrow they’d arrive at Singer’s Salvage. There would be doors. Separate rooms. Barriers and distance. 

“Tomorrow,” he whispered shakily, closing his eyes against the violent whirl of desire coursing through his limbs.

_ Tomorrow… I have to make it until tomorrow… _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading <3  
> Let me know what you think in the comments, and I'll see you guys in the next chapter.  
> Please note that Chapter 6 is still being beta'd, however, and I'm not sure when it'll be done. Hopefully by Saturday, but we'll see.   
> FIngers crossed, ya'll <3


	6. 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi everyone!  
> I know, I know, it's been a long time.  
> The posting schedule for these first 5 chapters have been _horrible_ , I admit it, but I promise I'm usually a lot more organized than this (those of you who followed me during the posting of Hot Water can testify to that haha)  
> Therefore, I'm happy to tell you that I'm now going back to posting my chapters for this fic on Thursdays. I couldn't before because of personal reasons, but now everything's hopefully been sorted, so stay tuned for next week, okay? :)
> 
> Now, onwards to chapter 6...

It was strange, Dean concluded, how drastically the mood inside the car had changed since yesterday. 

Just like his fever, the heaviness and suffocating silence between him and Castiel was gone, replaced by the usual noise of Baby’s radio, which at the moment was blaring out “Here I go again” by Whitesnake through the speakers. 

Dean was humming along with the chorus, drumming his fingers cheerfully against the wheel in time with the beat. For the first time in what felt like ages, he actually felt both optimistic and genuinely happy. 

The events of last night were still fresh in his memory, but he was determined not to let them ruin his mood, not today. He could deal with his panicking masculinity later, but not here and not now. Right now, he just wanted to drive his Baby and listen to his music, like he normally did. 

The chorus of the song was drawing closer, the climax building steadily. Dean could feel the rhythm strum its way through his bloodstream in that catchy way it only did when you were really getting into the groove, and his hands whacked against the steering wheel harder. Glancing to the side he caught one of Castiel’s index fingers mimicking the movement, but the angel’s stoic face showed no signs of sharing the human’s enthusiasm about the song. His wings, however, well… that was a different story.

Now, when Dean was no longer overcome by gut-wrenching dread and euphoria every time they so much as twitched, he had actually taken the time to study them a bit closer. Glancing at them from the corner of his eye as he drove, he slowly began to piece together the broken bits of information he had come to learn about them during the past few days. 

Turned out, Castiel’s wings were to an angel what a tail or ears were to a dog or cat. When he got annoyed, they puffed up slightly at the ridges, making him look obscenely like an offended cartoon owl. When he got angry, they billowed at his sides like ominous, black storm clouds, and if he got sad or disappointed, they slumped down so far that the long primary feathers barely avoided being dragged along the ground.

At the moment, however, they were raised high, perky and attentive. It was a tell-tale sign that the angel was in a good mood, and like the famous icing on the cakes that were Dean’s new discoveries, the hunter also noted that whenever Cas found something to be amusing, the large feathers tended to quiver slightly. As if the wings were filled to the brim with mirth that just had to get out. 

Like now, when Dean unabashedly released a full on drum solo onto the steering wheel while trying his best to mimic an electric guitar with his voice, Castiel’s wings shuddered, filling the car with the whisper of a hundred feathers.

“Oh, c’mon. It wasn’t that bad, was it?” Dean tried to sound offended, without success.

“I’m sure that...” Castiel leaned over and glanced at the case for the cassette tape that was currently playing inside the stereo. “… the white snakes would be very impressed.”

“You bet your ass they’d be impressed,” Dean snorted. “They’d offer me a spot on the team before you could say ‘pie’ in Enochian.”

“I’m afraid that would counteract the purpose, since that word actually takes quite some time to say,” Castiel retorted calmly; his serious act ruined only by the soft tremble that travelled through the dark quills behind his back.

“Dude, you can’t even be sarcastic with those things out, they ruin everything.” Dean grinned widely as another soft rustle was heard in response. 

“Then again…” he continued as an afterthought. “I kinda like that they do that. Knowing that you can joke on purpose makes you feel less intimidating somehow.”

Castiel turned to look at him, and his wings lowered a few inches.

“You find me intimidating?” he asked softly and even though the wings gave a pretty good hint, Dean also caught on to the injured tone of the other’s voice.

“No!” he objected hurriedly. “No, that’s not what I meant, I just— I mean, you  _ are  _ an angel, after all.”

He shot said angel a glance, but was only met with a long, dismayed look. Dean cleared his throat, grappling for the proper words to explain himself.

“You remember that second time we met?” he asked. “After the night in the barn?”

“You mean after you tried to shoot and stab me?”

A pang of guilt went off inside Dean’s chest at the hollow tone of Castiel’s voice, because dammit, the angel actually sounded hurt.

“Uh…” he stammered. “Yeah… I guess, but that’s not—”

“Because I’ve been trying very hard to forget about that.” Castiel turned his head away to look out the passenger window, shoulders pulling up in a sulk as his wings drew in tighter around him. Dean swallowed. Damn, that conversation took a turn for the worse faster than he would have anticipated.

He licked his lips and leaned over, giving the other a shallow nudge in the side with his elbow.

“Cas,” he tried. “C’mon, man, you know I didn’t mean that.” He gave the other an apologetic smile, but Castiel simply burrowed his face closer to the glass, not even looking at him.

“You are not being very convincing,” he grumbled.

“Seriously?” Dean’s eyebrows shot up. “That was  _ ages  _ ago. I didn’t even know who you were back then. All of a sudden you just blasted through the doors; thunder clashing, lights exploding… Taking Bobby out? I mean, what did you think was going to happen?”

“You hurt my feelings,” Castiel deadpanned into the door panel and Dean tipped his head back against the headrest with a heavy sigh. He had expected the angel to be less touchy now that their current situation was out in the open, but apparently the lack of grace was still causing some serious mood swings.

“Cas… don’t be like that,” he pleaded. “Hey, I’m sorry okay? I didn’t mean to... try and kill you.” God, it sounded a thousand times more stupid saying it out loud than to think it.

“I don’t know if I believe you, Dean.”

“But I didn’t—” Dean cut himself off when his ears suddenly registered the quiet murmur of feathers rustling from behind his seat, and when he looked away from the road he caught sight of the amused glint in the angel’s eyes.

Oh, you’ve gotta be kidding… 

“You ass,” he muttered, feeling his ears heat up with embarrassment.  

“Apologies.” Castiel straightened up in his seat, lips quirking up in a near invisible smile while the dark feathers sang humour from the back seat. “I couldn’t resist.”

“Oh, I bet you could, you just didn’t want to.”

“I merely wished to prove a point,” Castiel explained. “My wings may be a very communicative part of me, but as you can see, I’m perfectly capable of hiding my emotions, should I feel like it.”

“By being an ass, apparently…” Dean grumbled, feeling a bit sheepish. For a moment there, he had been genuinely worried that Cas was actually mad at him. He would never in his wildest dreams have suspected that the guy was  _ playing _ him.

“To be honest, I did not expect it to work,” Castiel commented on his thought process. “You made it quite easy.”

“Ha-ha, very funny,” Dean grimaced. “Now how about you get serious for a moment and listen to what I was going to say? Or maybe you’d prefer it if I just thought about it instead?”

“Not at all,” Castiel said humbly. “I enjoy the sound of your voice.”

Dean swallowed hard.

“Right,” he nodded, clearing his throat while trying to ignore the bashful burn the other’s comment left on his ears. “So, I was talking about that time in Bobby’s kitchen… You know, when you threatened to throw me back into the Pit if I didn’t start showing you some respect?”

“I remember.” Castiel nodded. “You were quite a nuisance to deal with back then. Come to think of it, you haven’t changed much.”

“You’re turning into a proper smartass today, aren’t you?”

“I’m learning.”

“Do you wanna hear this or not?”

“By all means.”

Dean took a deep breath, trying to come up with a way phrase his thoughts without sounding like a complete jerk and a total wuss, all at the same time.

“It’s not that I’m  _ scared  _ of you,” he clarified firmly. “It’s just that seeing you with your wings out— I mean, your real, flesh and blood wings… It kinda snapped me back to reality, you know? You’ve been around for so long now that I keep forgetting that you’re not actually... human.” He dared a quick look at the angle by his side, prepared for some sort of reaction, but Castiel was just looking back at him, expectantly.

“That night at Bobby’s…” He cleared his throat. “I didn’t know who or what you really were, or why you did the things you claimed to have done, and having you right there up in my face telling me that you’d hurl me straight back into the pit unless I played ball, I— I actually thought that you would do it. Throw me back in, I mean.”

“And I would have,” Cas agreed. “If the Host had ordered me to.” When Dean didn’t answer he continued, voice softening. “But that was a long time ago, now. The orders of Heaven don’t wield the same power over me as they used to.”

“Why, I’m glad to hear that at least,” Dean quipped with an eye roll.

Castiel shifted in his seat, turning fully towards him, face suddenly serious. His eyes were filled with that same revering devotion that always sent the butterflies in Dean’s stomach on a rampage, this time being no different; with the grace inside Dean’s body responding eagerly to the blue gaze by speeding up his pulse and making it hard to breathe.

“I would never allow you to get hurt, Dean,” the angel declared solemnly, seemingly oblivious as to what his intense stare did to the human in front of him. “It is my duty to keep you safe.”

“Dude, it’s not like it’s your job to look out for me,” Dean objected, quietly counting the stripes on the road in front of them to keep his thoughts occupied on something other than the imaginary feel of Castiel’s hands on his body. “We already stopped the apocalypse, there’s no need to—”

“There is,” Castiel interrupted firmly. “You’re the one who taught me about the value of free will, Dean. Without you, I would not be here. Keeping you safe is my way of honoring that tutorage; it is  _ my  _ choice, and neither Heaven nor Hell will be able to change it for me.”

“Wow, that’s—” Dean swallowed, his mouth suddenly dry; the angel’s sudden proclamation of gratitude making him feel oddly flustered.

“I mean— There’s no need for grand speeches, Cas. I appreciate the gesture, I really do, but you don’t owe me anything, man. You’re free to leave whenever you want.”

“And free to stay as well?” Castiel asked. 

“Yeah,” Dean nodded. “Sure, that too.”

He dared a quick look to the side, flashing Castiel an assuring smile. Castiel met it, the barely-there curve of his mouth conveying a smile so bright Dean could feel it beam against the side of his face when he turned back towards the road.

He also noted how, just before he did that, the angel’s eyes suddenly widened, growing impossibly dark as Castiel closed his eyes with a violent shudder.

“What?” Dean asked, lifting his foot off the gas pedal, prepared to stop should something be wrong. Castiel had gotten more used to riding in the car, sure, but Dean was not willing to trust him not to ruin the interior just yet.

“I think—” Castiel cleared his throat, his voice coming out low and raspy. “I think that you might want to… concentrate on the road for a while.”

“Why, what’s wrong?”

Castiel shot him a half lidded glance from the corner of his eye, groaning silently when their gazes met. This time, he didn’t turn away, eyes staying locked on Dean’s own as if shackled in place by some invisible force. There was something shining behind the surface of those blue eyes; something bright and flaring, like a match in the dark.

Dean’s throat pulled tight, his own gaze dropping to slide over the features of the other man’s face. Lingering on the soft, chapped curve of Castiel’s lips, he wondered if he— Perhaps if only—

“Dean, I can still hear you.” 

Dean’s face went beet red faster than a traffic light; the warning growl of Castiel’s voice doing nothing whatsoever to calm him down.

“Shut up!” he spluttered, tearing his eyes away to fasten them on the road ahead once again. His pulse was beating hard against his chest, and he recognized the rush of heat that came with the raging grace inside his body. Fuck, he had almost done it again, hadn’t he?

Castiel groaned, hiding his face in his hands.

“There’s no need to be embarrassed,” he sighed. “You can’t help yourself.”

“I’m not talking to you, pervert,” Dean muttered. “This time you’re the one who started it, not me.”

Castiel straightened up, letting out a sarcastic snort through his fingers.

“I’d say considering the thoughts you just had about my mouth, you’re the one who’s a—”

“Didn’t I just tell you to shut up?”

There was a brief silence.

“That position is not anatomically possible, Dean.”

“Oh, for the _ love  _ of—”

 

/\/\/\/\/\/\

 

Bobby’s truck was parked on the driveway when they finally arrived at Singer’s Salvage, sometime after eight in the evening. Even though there was only a minimum of lights on inside the house, it was a very alert Bobby that opened the door for them as they walked up the stairs to the front porch.

“Hi Bobby,” Dean greeted, receiving a grumpy look from the old man in return.

“You know what time it is, boy?”

Dean rolled his eyes to the sky.

“Save us the lecture, will you.” He gestured to the hallway on the other side of the open door, behind Bobby’s back. ”Are you gonna let us in or what?”

“You were supposed to be here hours ago,” Bobby grunted, but stepped aside for them to enter. When Cas walked in through the doorway, the old hunter’s eyes widened, but he didn’t comment on the two feather-clad limbs sticking out of the angel’s back. When his gaze fell upon the carrier in the angel’s hand however, he couldn’t hold back anymore.

“Jesus, you weren’t kidding when you told me he had shrunk, were you?”

“He’s fine, Bobby,” Dean assured him. “As soon as the lunar eclipse comes around he’ll be good as new.” 

Bobby took of his cap and scratched at his head with a sigh.

“Well, it’s been awhile since there was something this tiny under my roof…” He tilted his head to the side, looking down at the child in the carrier, and for a moment Dean thought the lines on the old man’s face seemed to fade, no longer appearing as deep or dark. 

A tender expression swept over the old hunter’s features, as if he was thinking back on better times. The weary weight on his shoulders appeared to let up for just a moment and Dean’s thoughts went to lazy afternoons in the park, the warm, musky smell of a baseball glove, and the burning ache of tired muscles in his pitching arm. Then Bobby straightened up and put the cap back on, and just like that, the spell was broken. 

The old man turned towards them, shaking his head.

“You idjits better be right about this lunar eclipse thing,” he muttered before closing the front door firmly behind them.

 

/\/\/\/\/\/\

 

Bobby’s attic was literally crammed with stuff, containing literally everything from tattered cardboard boxes to discarded pieces of furniture. Judging by the thick layer of dust and cobwebs that covered everything, Dean guessed that it had been a while since anything living actually spent time up here.

At the moment, Bobby was busy rummaging around in one of the far corners of said attic while Dean held up the flashlight for him at the other end, providing the man with as much light as he could without having to venture further into the maze of cartons and whirling dust himself.

“Not much for spring cleaning, are you Bobby?” he called out through the protective cover of his hand, receiving an offended snort from the corner in return.

“There’s a broom in the closet downstairs if you’re feeling bored, Cinderella.”  

“You know what, on second thought, I think I’m fine.”

“Yeah, that’s what I thought.” Bobby muttered. “Aha!”

A triumphant noise was heard and then Bobby emerged from amidst the raffle with a large cardboard box balancing underneath his left arm, along with what looked like a picket fence hauled up underneath the other.

“Here, make yourself useful.”

Dean caught the box Bobby threw at him, expecting it to weigh tons, but almost toppled over from overcompensation when it turned out to weigh less than his duffel bag downstairs.

They made their way back down to the living room where Castiel was busy entertaining Sam with a game of hide and seek—meaning that Cas hid Sam underneath the edge of a blanket and then waited for the boy to pull it away, the baby shrieking with laughter every time he discovered that the angel was still there when he did so.

“Having fun?” Dean smirked as he put the box down.

“He seems to be enjoying himself.” Cas tilted his head, not looking up from the beaming face below him. “Although I can’t understand why he insists on getting so surprised.”

Dean laughed and turned to Bobby, helping him place the wooden rails onto the floor.

“So, what is all this?” he asked, poking at the box with his foot. 

“It’s yours,” Bobby grumbled. ”Or, mostly Sam’s. You were a bit too old.”

Dean shot him a quizzical glance before he hunched down and carefully pried the dusty lid of the box open.

“Wow, look at all this stuff…!” His hands dug down amongst the various items and the hunter let out a happy little noise when they clutched around something lying at the bottom of the box. 

“Hey, I remember this!” He pulled out a stuffed toy clown and held it up on display for the rest of the members in the room to see. He had barely managed to get the toy up in the air before Sam immediately started screaming from his place on Castiel’s lap.

“Okay, okay, so maybe not that one.” Dean quickly returned the clown to the box and Cas put the blanket back over Sam’s face, making him go instantly silent.

“Hey, this one’s mine.” Dean pulled out a miniature action figure of Captain America, turning it over in his hands. “I can’t believe you kept all this,” he added towards Bobby who was looking over his shoulder down at the collection of toys inside the box.

“Well, it’s not as if I could just throw away something that wasn’t mine,” the old hunter grumbled halfheartedly, obviously enjoying the younger man’s enthusiasm even if he didn’t want to show it.

“This is awesome…” Dean beamed. “Oh, look at this!”

A wooden box joined Captain America on the floor, and once opened, it revealed a vast collection of little, green, plastic army men. Dean made another delighted sound, grinning like a kid at Christmas and Bobby shook his head, although failing to hold back a smile himself.

“Hey, get your head out of your ass and help me with this.” He picked up one of the picket fence pieces and dusted it off.

“What is that?” Cas asked over the loud giggles Sam made when he pulled the blanket away to revealed the angel once more.

“It’s Sam’s crib.” 

“Sam had a crib?” Dean asked, dumbfounded, and Bobby rolled his eyes at him.

“Of course he had a crib, you dofus. He was only six months old when your house burnt down, he had to sleep somewhere.”

“Yeah, of course, I get it, it’s just— I mean, I don’t remember this…” Dean reached out to brush his fingers over the wooden bars and Bobby shrugged.

“That’s not very strange. You had other things on your mind at the time.” He waved his hand at the younger man. “Now go fetch me a screwdriver from the kitchen.”

“I thought you kept your tools in the cellar?” Dean frowned, getting up from his crouched position on the floor.

“I do. I’m talking about the drinkable kind.” Bobby gestured to the heap of wooden pieces scattered across the floor in front of them. “I haven’t assembled one of these in over 25 years; I’m going to need some inspiration.”

“And then you want something as manly as a Screwdriver?” Dean asked, quirking his brow. Bobby turned to glare at him.

“If I wanted to keep up appearance I’d make you do this on your own, smartass.” He nodded towards the kitchen. “Now get going. Orange juice’s in the cooler.”

 

/\/\/\/\/\/\

 

It was almost midnight when Dean finally placed his baby brother inside the assembled crib, and it was with a huge sense of combined relief and pride that he watched the baby nuzzle into the beddings, settling to sleep with a contented sigh. 

He felt a light tap on his shoulder and turned around to find Bobby standing behind him with an outstretched beer in his hand. Dean grabbed it and took two large swigs out of the bottle while Bobby stalked over to the couch and offered Castiel a flask of his own, which the angel politely accepted, albeit while looking as if he wasn’t quite sure what to do with it.

“So… A Grýla, huh?” Bobby said quietly, wringing off the cap of the third and final bottle before bringing it up to his mouth.

“Yup…” Dean sighed, looking down at his baby brother once again.

“Thought they were extinct by now.”

“Apparently not as extinct as we thought.”

There was silence, only temporarily disturbed by the sound of bottles being emptied and beer being swallowed. The beverage was cold, condensation forming over the surface of the glass in Dean’s hand. Taking a new drink, he let out a loud, content sigh, waiting to feel the chilled liquid go down his throat and pool in his stomach before bringing the bottle up for a second time. 

The moment his lips came into contact with the glass he felt a familiar, prickling sensation stab at the back of his neck. It made the hairs there stand on edge, causing goosebumps to spread all over his body with a shiver.

He knew that he shouldn’t look, being perfectly and nearly painfully aware of what he would see, but his eyes didn’t obey him. His head turned and it was a good thing that he looked as if he had just inhaled a deep gulp of beer from the bottle in his hand, because otherwise the moaning noise that tore out of his throat would never have been disguisable.

Castiel was looking straight at him from the other side of the room, just like Dean knew he would. His eyes were dark, pupils blown so wide that they nearly resembled the tar-colored eyes of a demon’s in the dusk. His wings had stretched to span across the entire length of Bobby’s worn out couch; feathers quietly rippling into standing attention, one by one, the longer their gazes stayed locked. 

The angel’s mouth was open ever so slightly, and his chest rose and fell in deep, steady breaths. His fingers were gripping hard around the bottle in his hands, fingertips whitening as if the touch of glass against his palms was the only thing keeping him tethered to the couch. 

It was with both horror and excitement that Dean realized that this was actually the case. 

He looked away quickly, feeling the ominous tingle spread throughout his body like wildfire. Turning his back to the sofa, he breathed down another mouthful of beer while resolutely shoving away all the suggestive things his brain wanted to substitute for the bottle in between his lips.

Instead, he concentrated all his willpower on sending the angel a mental slap to the face along with a harsh order to quit staring, but for some reason it turned into a silent whimper on the way through his mind. 

It seemed to do the trick though, because Dean heard the forceful rustle when the black wings abruptly refolded themselves behind the angel’s back, Castiel’s breath hitching almost unnoticeably. 

When Dean turned back around, Castiel was drinking from his bottle, glugging down beer in a pace that was almost erotically ridiculous. There should be nothing exciting about watching an Angel of the Lord chug down alcoholic beverages, but right now the only things echoing through Dean’s head were the words ‘no gag reflexes’ quickly followed by ‘no need to breathe’. Suddenly he wished that he could have had something to steady himself against.

If Bobby noticed the odd way they were behaving, then at least he didn’t comment or let it show. Once the old man had emptied his own drink, he got up from behind his desk and yawned widely.

“Well, I’m off to bed,” he announced. “There are clean sheets in the closet; you’ve obviously found the sofa already, and the guest room’s down the hall like always. I’ll leave you to fight over who gets which. G’night.”

Dean gave Bobby a quiet nod as the older man left the room, pretending that his lack of verbal response was caused by the bottle still pressed against his lips and not the fear of accidentally sounding like a hormonal teenager when he spoke. Soon after, he heard the sound of footsteps disappearing up the stairs and just like that, they were alone.

Dean wasn’t prepared for it. Had he been, then things might have gone differently, but as it was he barely had the time to turn his head from the door to the couch before Castiel was right there; cupping his face in his hands and pressing his lips against Dean’s with heated passion. Taken by surprise, Dean opened his mouth to protest, but Castiel took advantage of the sudden opening and plunged his tongue into the hunter’s mouth with a desperate, needy groan.

The bottle in Dean’s hand dropped to the floor with a dull thud as pitch-black wings came up and around, enfolding them both. Dean’s eyes flew open when they started stroking down the length of his back, down his thighs and then back up again, electricity sparking through his nerves and sending chills of pleasure up his spine. 

“Cas..!” He managed to choke the name out when the angel drew back for air, but Castiel forcefully shook his head, spinning them around. He continued to leave a trail of hurried kisses down Dean’s jaw, pulling at his clothes and dragging the already open flannel off the human’s arms to leave him in just his t-shirt.

“I’m sorry…” he breathed. “I’m sorry, please… please, Dean, just let me…”

Castiel pushed him backwards and the back of his legs hit the side of the couch, sending him toppling down onto the cushions below, Castiel following.

The angel landed on top of him, pinning him down with the weight of his body, black wings flaring out above them with a loud whisper. Dean had to bite his lip to keep himself from groaning loudly when he felt the hardness inside the other’s dark slacks press against the one trapped in his own jeans. 

“Cas, wait! I thought you said—” He tried to make his voice heard, but cut himself off with a startled gasp when Castiel’s hand reached down and grabbed him by the hip, forcefully grinding their bodies together.

“I’m fine, Cas, there’s no f—fever…!” Dean was stuttering, struggling to find the words. He wasn’t feeling sick like had before, but he sure as hell wasn’t immune to the power Castiel’s grace had over him either. He couldn’t find the strength in his limbs to push the angel away, wasn’t even sure if he wanted to. At the sound of his voice, however, Castiel froze above him, chest heaving and fingers clutching around the exposed ridge of Dean’s hipbone.

“You’re fine…” Cas breathed against his collarbone, trembling and shaking as if the effort it took to stop what he was doing was downright painful. “But I’m not.” 

He sat up slowly, straddling Dean’s hips as he began to unbutton his shirt. Dean stared, mouth dry as Castiel then reached out and grabbed Dean’s own hand, bringing it up and pushing it underneath the partially undone, white fabric.

Dean could feel the pounding of Castiel’s heart reverberate through the length of his arm, bashing against his palm like a sledgehammer, and he was so  _ warm _ , like a furnace. Dean stared up at the angel, whose wings now had lowered to drape around their bodies like black, velvet curtains. Suddenly he noticed the feverish glaze that covered the other’s blue eyes, the sweat beading at his temples and the vicious shivers that shook the angel’s frame.

“I’m not…” Castiel repeated, his voice ragged and broken, and the sound of it, so unfamiliar and so  _ wrong _ , was enough to scare Dean senseless.  

“Cas…” He sought eye contact, but Castiel avoided it. Instead he climbed off of him and off the couch, breath catching in his throat as he staggered over to the crib where Sam was still sleeping to fist the railing so hard his knuckles whitened. Cautiously, Dean stood up as well, and he was already moving forward when he suddenly stopped, realizing that getting closer to Cas right now might not be such a fabulous idea.

“Dude…” He hesitated. Castiel was shaking violently now, shoulders drawn tight underneath the bulk of his trench coat. It was such an alien sight; seeing the angel lose control like this, for Dean to watch him crumble and fall apart right there in front of him without being able to do anything to stop it. It made him feel helpless,  _ useless, _ and he hated it!

“Cas… Talk to me, man,” he rasped. “What’s going on?”

Castiel shot him a guarded glance over his shoulder, but he didn’t answer; something that aggravated Dean beyond words. First the bastard jumps him without warning and now he won’t even explain why?

“Alright, you know what?” he growled. “That’s it.” He stomped up to stand on the other side of the crib, glaring at the angel. “Either you tell me what the fuck is going on, or I swear to God, I’ll beat it out of you right here.” 

_ And you know I can, _ he added inside his head, watching Castiel’s eyes widen as the thought got automatically transmitted through to his brain.

“Your powers might be gone for the moment, but you’re still able to read my mind, asshole,” Dean continued out loud, keeping his voice balancing on the edge of a whisper in order not to wake his brother up. “I can’t read yours, so if I’m going to be some kind of grace-kink-donor to you, then you better start letting me in on things. Like for starters:  _ what the hell is wrong with you? _ ”

Castiel’s eyes darted up, but then dropped back down again just as quickly. He released the punishing grip he held on the crib and turned his back towards the human, taking a few evasive steps away before he stopped, staring down at the floor.

“My vess—” he stared, but then seemed to change his mind. “My body… is human,” he said slowly.

Dean crossed his arms over his chest, waiting for a continuance. Castiel’s posture pleaded, the rigid angle of his shoulder screaming and begging him not to push this any further, but he ignored it. Relentless in his silence, he continued to stare the angel down, and eventually Castiel released a deep, shuddering breath, feathers quivering and ruffling. Not from arousal this time, but in something painfully akin to fear.

“I thought the physical reactions would be temporary,” he grated. “That the need would go away once I got to connect with you, but I— I was wrong.”

He looked down onto his hands and the dark wings curled in around him like a shield. His eyes grew distant, as if searching the palms before him for answer to mysteries helplessly invisible to the human eye.

“How do you humans stand it?” he all but whispered, turning around, tortured blue meeting suspicious green. “How do you bear being so close to someone, knowing that you cannot have them?” 

Dean swallowed hard, feeling his heart begin to race the longer he held on to that gaze. His arms slowly dropped from their perch over his chest as the subtext of Castiel’s words slowly began to take form in the back of his head.

“Cas, what are you saying…?”

Feathers trembled and closed tighter around the angel’s body, as if they were trying to keep Dean out… or Castiel in.

“I thought I could resist it,” Castiel breathed. “That I would not need physical release in order to survive this.” 

Dean watched as pain flashed over the angel’s face. Pain and… regret? 

“But I do, Dean…” It was almost a whimper now, Castiel’s voice dropping below that of a whisper. Pleading.  _ Begging _ . 

“I’m falling apart and I can’t take this anymore.” 

Dean’s throat constricted around his windpipe, making it hard to breathe. What was he saying? Did he mean— No, he couldn’t— Was he  _ serious? _

“You want me to….?” He trailed off, leaving the rest of the question unsaid, and Castiel swallowed hard.

“But I thought you said— You told me that part didn’t  _ apply _ to you, asshole!”

“There was nothing suggesting that it would.”

Dean stomped around the crib, coming up to stand face to face with the other as he leaned in to stare the angel right in the face, lips drawn up in an angry snarl.

“I promised you I’d help you out,” he hissed, “but I never agreed to become your goddamn bitch!”

Castiel turned his face away with a wince; from the harshness in his voice, or the grace tugging at his self-control, Dean couldn’t tell.

“That’s not what I’m asking,” Castiel breathed, but Dean didn’t want to hear it.

“You sure about that?” he snarled. “Because you  _ do  _ realize that you’re asking me to get you off, right? And not through some wacky grace transfer, either, but actually by—” 

He threw his arm out in a vague gesture, as if he wasn’t even sure himself what he meant. Castiel closed his eyes, breathing deeply through his nose. Dean could feel the grace curl and wind beneath his flesh, but he was too furious to care about how their close proximity was affecting them; to shocked to care about the desperate plea in his friend’s voice.

“You know that I would never ask this of you unless it was  _ important _ ,” Castiel tried, but Dean just snorted, stepping back in disgust.

“How about you learn to jack off instead, huh? Because I’m sure as hell ain’t doing that for you.”

“Dean,” he winced. “It’s not the same thing.”

“I know it isn’t,” Dean snapped. “That’s sort of the  _ point! _ ”

“No, you don’t  _ understand! _ ” 

In two short strides, Castiel was suddenly standing right in front of him, and without warning the angel’s hands came up to clutch tightly around Dean’s head. Dean felt the scratch of blunt fingernails press in against his scalp, and then there was only  _ light _ .

Light, fire, sweet, sweet arousal on the verge of pain, and heartbeats so hard they hurt as they rushed the blood through his veins. Dean was burning, he could feel his body turn to ash around him, could feel himself tumble to the ground in spasms and uncontrolled twitches. His entire being ached for touch, for feelings and words whispered against his skin, for closeness and intimacy he had never felt other than in his own inexperienced imagination. 

It was unbearable; this longing for something he couldn’t identify, but wanted, oh, Sweet Lord he wanted it so badly! He didn’t know what it was; just that it was close, pulling at him, dragging him in. It was terrifying, frightening; a whole new world of emotions that he knew he should fear, but wanted to belong to so desperately. 

He reached out, groping, trying to grab hold of it, the  _ thought _ of it, but he missed and fell. Down, down, down, into the fire, and the light, and the pleasure, and the pain; such wonderful, horrible  _ pain...! _

When he opened his eyes, he found himself kneeling on the floor with Castiel’s left hand still tightly pressed against his temple. His head was spinning and he felt as if he was about to vomit, but somehow he managed to keep himself steady, watching the swirling floor slowly settle beneath his hands. 

He was vaguely aware of the straining ache inside his jeans, but at the moment he wasn’t coherent enough to bother himself with the embarrassment. Castiel was breathing heavily in front of him, gulping in greedy breaths of air and bracing himself against the floor with his free hand, shivering uncontrollably. 

Every single one of his feathers were standing straight out in wild attention, as if they were being pulled up by static electricity; violently shaking and filling the room with desperate whispers of need and longing. Dean wanted to look away, knowing very well what the sight of the other’s arousal would do to him, but he couldn’t bring himself to even move.

“My God…” he croaked. “Was that...?”

“Yes…” Castiel fingers swiftly left Dean’s forehead, as if the angel had burned himself on his skin.

“For fuck’s sake… Always?” Blue eyes met his shocked gaze, filled with remorse.

“Every second,” Castiel whispered.

“My God…” Dean repeated. “How do you even—”

“Function?” Castiel ended meekly before bowing his head. “I don’t. Not anymore.”

“And this is because of the grace stuck inside me?”

“Partially…”

“Partially?”

Castiel’s wings drew closer once more, in shame and embarrassment, and this time he refused to meet with Dean’s gaze when he spoke. 

“The Grace intensifies it, but… my own feelings makes it worse.”

“What do you mean your feel—” 

The sounds of the world went mute as silence lowered itself over them, thick and heavy as realization slowly dawned in Dean’s mind. 

Outside the window the gleam of the full moon broke through the curtains, making Castiel’s ruffled wings shimmer with dark colours, which, even with the dimmed lights of the room, seemed to bounce back against the walls and wash them both in showers of iridescent light. Meanwhile, the angel’s face remained hidden in shadow, unwilling to even look up from the worn and faded carpet beneath their hands.

Dean didn’t know what to do. He didn’t know what to say. How could he possibly know? 

There weren’t exactly any walkthroughs for these kind of situations. There were no guides, no articles on how to respond to a clumsily, accidentally forced out profession of… whatever this was from a goddamn  _ angel _ ! 

Castiel was hiding from him—covering his face like an abused animal expecting a beating—and the pitiful sight of him made Dean cringe from the inside out. 

Cas obviously couldn’t zap himself anywhere, so instead he resorted to wrapping himself within the shelter of his own wings, like a child hiding underneath a blanket. It was heartbreaking to witness, but not as much as it felt to have caused it.

“Cas… I—” 

Dean was not allowed to get the words out, because Castiel was standing up from the floor before Dean had even finished speaking his name, wings still curled tight around him while his eyes stayed intently locked onto his own feet.

“I’m sorry,” he said quietly. His voice was hard and defensive, reflecting the strained tension of his jawline. “I should never have assumed that you would consent to this.” 

He turned away, heading for the door, but by now Dean was up as well, fisting his hands in the trench coat’s tan sleeve in order to make the other stay. The moment his fingers curled into the fabric, Castiel gave a loud gasp, shrugging him off as if Dean’s touch had burnt him.

“Please, just…” He flinched when Dean’s hand rose for the second time, and Dean vigilantly lowered the limb back down. 

There was such pain in Castiel’s eyes, in his face. In the way he slouched in the doorway, hiding beneath ebony wings while shivering like a leaf in the wind… 

The sight set off a gut-wrenching pang of pain deep inside Dean’s soul, as if the despair radiating off the angel was in fact his own. He didn’t realize that he had tears in his eyes until the lump in his throat made his voice croak and shatter as he tried to speak.

“Cas…” he whispered. “I don’t— I—” 

Oh God, what could he possibly say? His tongue was like sandpaper against the roof of his mouth, dry and sticky and it didn’t obey him, refused to form even the most basic of sounds. His jaw fell open and he shook his head, trying mentally to convey that he simply had no words, nothing to offer in response to this. 

Castiel’s wings dropped impossibly lower when the message travelled through the mental link they now seemed to share, and he swallowed, looking down at the hands curled into fists by his sides.

“I’m sorry,” he mumbled, turning away. “Please, forget that this conversation ever took place.” 

“But your grace…!” Dean objected, his voice hoarse and dull. “It’s burning you alive!”

Castiel stopped, and one of his hands came up to grapple around the doorpost, like a man steadying himself on a crutch.

“I will find alternate ways to endure,” he rasped.

“But—”

“Good night, Dean.”

And with that the angel left the room, the mourning sound of whispering feathers lingering in the air; leaving Dean feeling as if someone had just ripped his still beating heart straight out of his chest.

 

/\/\/\/\/\/\

 

Dean didn’t sleep. 

When Bobby woke up six hours later, he came down to find the oldest Winchester slumped over the kitchen table with an almost completely empty bottle of whiskey in front of him, and an equally empty glass clutched in his hand.

The sun was just about to rise outside, painting the kitchen and study in a warm, golden glow, shining down on Sam who was awake in his crib, playing with a large teddy bear. The tartan bowtie beneath the furry chin seemed to fascinate him beyond belief, and like everything else even remotely interesting, said bowtie was now being investigated thoroughly in true baby-fashion. Which meant that Sam was trying his hardest to fit the checkered piece of fabric inside his toothless mouth. 

Bobby threw a quick glance at the baby to assure himself that the boy wasn’t going to choke himself on the stuffed animal before he turned to Dean, taking in the sight of the brooding young man sitting in his kitchen.

“Where’s your angel-buddy?” he asked, seating himself in the chair opposite to the other man.

“Don’t know,” Dean grumbled into the glass. “Guest room, maybe.”

“My, aren’t we in a lovely mood today?”

Dean answered him by pouring more of the amber colored liquid into the glass, downing almost half of it in a single swig before he topped it up again and put the flask back down.

Bobby looked at the bottle.

“You know, that one was almost full yesterday,” he pointed out.

“Guess I owe you then,” Dean retorted apathetically, making Bobby sigh and lean over the table.

“What’s going on here?” he demanded. “I went to bed last night and everything was fine. Now I wake up to find you’ve raided my liquor cabinet and Angel Boy is nowhere to be seen? And don’t give me that look,” he added when Dean glowered at him from over the rim of his glass. “It doesn’t exactly take a psychiatrist to figure out that the two of you had a fight.”

“It’s nothing, Bobby.”

“Like hell there isn’t.”

“Oh, I’m sorry; what I meant was that it’s none of your fucking business.” Dean sent him one of his politest fuck-off smiles across the tabletop, to which Bobby simply glowered back.

“If there’s trouble brewing in my house, then it is very much my business, boy.”

Dean muttered something under his breath as he got up from the table, wobbling his way over to the fridge on unsteady bowlegs with an adolescent eye roll to the ceiling.

“There’s nothing you can do about it, Bobby,” he declared firmly. “Just drop it.”

He plucked around mindlessly amongst the shelves, but apparently he didn’t find whatever it was he was looking for, as he closed the door with a sigh mere moments later. 

“How ‘bout you give me a quick recap and we’ll see about that,” Bobby challenged.

“Absolutely not.” Dean leaned against the sink, glass still in hand and a defiant look on his suddenly blushing face. Bobby sighed.

“C’mon, Dean. Don’t make me force it out’a ya.”

Dean resolutely shook his head, gulping down another mouthful of whiskey.

“You wouldn’t believe me if I told you,” he tried, to which Bobby crossed his arms and leaned back in his chair.

“Well, if I had a nickle for every time someone told me that,” he snorted.

“I’m serious,” Dean growled. “This is not a hunt, and I’m not some terrified housewife or traumatized college student. I know the job, Bobby, and I’m telling you, there’s nothing you can do to help me with this.”

Bobby’s eyes narrowed into a squint.

“Try me.”

Dean glared at him for a few seconds, jaw clenching and unclenching while he chewed on the inside of his cheek. Then he sighed heavily and emptied his glass in a single swig, grimacing as the fluid burned his throat on the way down.

“We’re gonna need more whiskey,” he announced.

 

/\/\/\/\/\/\

 

“…and that’s basically it,” Dean ended with a slight slur, trying to ignore the way Bobby was staring at him. 

His own face was probably looking like a red lantern going by the heat he felt burning his cheeks, but at least he had managed to keep the threatening hard on in his jeans at bay while retelling his story. 

He had not gone into details, but some of the memories were more than enough to make him want to lean his head back and moan like a two dollar whore at the mere thought of them. He had managed to keep himself under control, forced himself to stay calm and professional, even though his libido was constantly plucking at the back of his head for attention.

On the other side of the table, Bobby swallowed hard and grabbed hold of his glass, raising it to his lips.

“Oh…” he managed, bringing the glass to his mouth with eyes wide as saucers.

Dean scowled.

“That’s all you can say?” he asked indignantly. “Just, ‘Oh’?”

Bobby shrugged, blinking dumbly.

“Well… there ain’t really that much more to it, is there?”

Dean glared at him for a moment, but then he sighed, reaching for his own glass.

“No… I guess there isn’t.”

They both emptied their drinks and Dean poured them two new ones from the second bottle Bobby had fetched from the cabinet in the study earlier.

“So…” Bobby chuckled “The little tree topper has a crush on you, huh?”

“Sure seems that way,” Dean gruffed into his glass.

“Do you like him back?”

“Bobby!”

“Well, do you?”

Dean shrugged. Bobby gave him a reprimanding stare, which Dean answered by throwing his arms out, failing to meet the other’s stern look with about an inch to the left.

“I don’t know, alright! In case you didn’t get it, this whole Grace Situation sort of complicates things just a bit.”

“Do you at least  _ care _ for the guy?”

“Well I—Of course I  _ care _ !” Dean spluttered. “The dude pulled me out of Hell for Christ’s sake…”

“You know that’s not what I meant,” Bobby frowned, but Dean didn’t grant him an answer.

“What difference does it make?” he groaned. “Bottom line is, if he and I don’t do… the  _ thing _ … we die.”

He slumped down into his chair, looking absolutely defeated while Bobby scratched at his head through the cap.

“Well…” he said slowly. “From what you’ve told me, doesn’t your body kinda... _want_ to do the… thing? With him?”

“That’s not the point!” Dean snapped angrily, and Bobby raised his hands in defence.

“Alright, whatever, but how about we look at this as if it was just another case? Let’s say you’ve found yourself smack in the middle of another one of those stupid situations you boys always seem to end up in. What would you do in order to come out of it alive?”

“That’s still not the—”

“Just answer the damn question, will ya?” Bobby groaned. “Save your wounded pride for the tabloids.”

Dean glowered at him, but didn’t say anything. He gnawed at his bottom lip, pulling at the chapped skin with his teeth while staring down into the tabletop. He knew what the obvious answer was. Of course he did.

“Anything it takes,” he muttered eventually, looking down at his whiskey glass.

“Then is having sex with Castiel really such a bad thing?” Bobby pushed. “Compared to what Michael wanted you for?”

“I thought we agreed on not using the s-word,” Dean grumbled, trying not to let it show that his tomato red ears were bothering him. “And no, it’s not as bad, but it’s not exactly great either…”

“Well,” Bobby snorted. “Since you’ve apparently already ridden the horse halfway to town…”

“Hey!”

“…I don’t see why going all the way should make such a difference?”

“Easy for you to say,” Dean muttered. “You’re not the one who’s going to have to pull a Brokeback Mountain on the guy…”

Bobby shook his head, sighing before he emptied his drink with a final swig and stood up from the table.

“I’m just saying that’s my opinion,” he clarified. “I get that it’s not going to be easy. Hell, I wouldn’t want to trade places with you, but… that’s all I got, sorry.”

He trudged out into the hallway and pulled on his jacket, not caring about the daggers Dean was glaring at his back.

“I’m heading out for a few hours,” he announced nonchalantly. “I’ve got a pickup with a busted a-axle that needs fixin’.” 

He nodded towards the living room couch through the door opening. 

“Make sure to get some sleep,” he suggested. “You look like shit.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading guys <3  
> Please feel free to leave a comment on your thoughts so far, I'd really appreciate it :) 
> 
> See you Thursday, darlings! <3


	7. 7

Dean jackknifed up from the sofa with a gasp, sucking air into his lungs like a drowning man breaking through the surface of the ocean. 

His head immediately responded to the sudden movement by tilting the room upside down for him, a painful reminder of just how much whiskey he had imbibed during the night. His mouth filled with acid, but he swallowed it down quickly, grimacing from the raw burn that clawed its way down his throat. He definitely shouldn’t be up already, he was aware of that much. Something had woken him.

Something was wrong.

The muffled sound of a running engine made its way in through the shut window behind him. When he directed his bloodshot eyes outside, he barely had enough time to catch a glimpse of the back of Bobby’s truck before it started rolling down the driveway.

“No...” he rasped, horrible realization breaking through the veil of alcohol clouding his brain. “No, no, no…! Bobby!”

He shot up from the sofa – ignoring the fact that his stomach made a valiant attempt to empty itself in the process – and darted out into the hall, tearing the front door open. He took the steps of the front porch two at the time, but all there was left to see when he reached the yard was a cloud of rapidly settling dust.

“Son of a  _ bitch! _ ”

He yelled and kicked at the ground, momentarily forgetting that he was still barefoot, and cursed loudly when his big toe made impact with the very hard rocks scattered across the ground. He stumbled towards the porch, sending a final death glare down the road before limping back inside, grasping around his pounding head and muttering obscenities from under his breath. 

Once he made it back to the kitchen, he spotted a note lying on the middle of the table. He snatched it up, reading the two sentences that were scribbled across the lined surface in Bobby’s messy handwriting.

_ ‘Gone hunting for a few days. You idjit’s better be alive when I get back.” _

Dean turned the note over.

_ ‘ PS. Stay out of my bedroom!’ _

_ “ _ Damn it, Bobby…” He crinkled the note in his fist with a tired sigh.

So Bobby had left them alone. Great, that’s just… great…

He groaned and pinched the bridge of his nose.

Fucking perfect.

A soft gurgle was heard from behind him and he turned around to face Sammy, who was standing on wobbly legs inside his crib while gripping the rails with tiny fingers.

“At least you’re still here,” Dean muttered sarcastically. He walked over to the crib and picked his brother up. Sam gurgled his approval and slapped a hand against Dean’s stubbled cheek in something that could have been a sign of either endearment or attempted murder.

“Guess it’s just the three of us again, huh buddy?” He sent a silent glance into the hallway that led to the guestroom. “Or two,” he added.

He felt a block of ice settle in his gut when the memories of last night came flooding back into his head, followed by a rush of guilt that made his chest pull tight around his lungs. His emotions must have shown on his face, because Sam looked up at him with big, wondering eyes, as if he was trying to decipher the change in his brother’s features. Dean squirmed uncomfortably, failing to meet that penetrating gaze head on. 

“Never mind,” he grumbled. “Let’s get you some food.” 

 

/\/\/\/\/\/\

 

After Sam had devoured almost half of the canned mush Dean had served him, Dean decided that perhaps it would be a good idea to check in on Cas. He had hoped that the angel would show himself at some point before noon, but so far, there had been nothing. It seemed as if he would have to take the matter into his own hands…  

The short walk from the kitchen to the guestroom might as well have been miles long. It felt like forever before he finally reached the door, and even longer until his hand made contact with the wood, knocking twice.

“Hey, Cas?” he called out, releasing a peeved breath from his lungs the moment he realized he was holding it. There was no answer.

“Cas, you in there?”

He tried the handle, but the door didn’t budge.

“C’mon, man, unlock the door.”

There were still no sounds or signs of movement from the other side, so he pounded the door again.

_ “Go away, Dean.” _

Castiel’s voice sounded tired and weak, but it could also have been a distortion caused by the thick material of the door. At least, Dean hoped that was the case. He pressed his forehead against the wood, closing his eyes, while firmly reminding himself that Castiel was sick and needed to be handled with at least a tiny amount of delicacy. 

“I need to talk to you,” he said, trying to sound gentle and coaxing. “It’s not about earlier,” he added, thinking that Cas was probably still feeling embarrassed about the whole thing that had happened. After all, who wouldn’t be after something like that?

He took a deep breath. 

“Bobby’s left.” 

Silence.

“Hey, you hear me?” 

Worry suddenly twisted though his stomach, making him nauseous. What if Cas had gotten worse? A sharp image of the angel, lying half passed out on the floor behind the door flashed though Dean’s head, and he tugged at the handle, yanking at it.

“ _ Cas? _ ” he repeated, perhaps a bit sharper than he had intended.

There was a brief silence before Castiel’s voice came drifting through from the other side.

_ “What about Sam?” _ he asked quietly, and Dean let out a tightly held breath of relief. At least the angel was still conscious enough to think about Sam. That had to be a good sign, right?

“He’s still here. I’ve fed him.” Dean  _ really _ tried to make it sound as if he was talking about his brother and not a dog.

Both the room and the hallway fell silent. For a moment, Dean seriously contemplated how much trouble he would end up in if he actually kicked the door down, but in the end he refrained from it. 

Even if he did break down the door,  _ then  _ what would he do? He couldn’t exactly force Cas to talk, and… there was always a risk that one of them—or both—wouldn’t be able to control themselves if he tried. Castiel might have revealed that he liked Dean more than just a friend, but that didn’t really equal that he wanted Dean to—  

He cut the thought off, not even wanting to go there. That would be rape, simple as that. If Cas wasn’t even willing to talk to him, then he sure as Hell wouldn’t be willing to do other things either—under the influence of Grace or not. Breaking down the only physical barrier between them would only do them more harm than good…  

“Just—” Dean closed his eyes again, biting down on his lip momentarily before continuing: “Let me know if you need anything, okay? I’ll be out here when you decide you wanna… talk, or… you know.”

He tried to send a supportive thought through the door, but he wasn’t sure if it came out as a pat on the back or an accidental slap to the cheek. 

Fuck, he hated this. 

He turned away from the door, quietly returning to the living room to check up on his brother; who by now had finally mastered the art form of successfully shoving his foot inside his mouth.

“Showoff…” Dean muttered as he grabbed a beer from the cooler, but Sam simply shrieked happily around his toes and didn’t take any notice of his brother’s downtrodden tone. Dean sighed and threw a final glance down the hallway before he wrung the cap off the bottle in his hand, downing half of its content in one big swig.

 

/\/\/\/\/\/\

 

The day passed slowly. Dean spent most of it trudging through his hangover in front of Bobby’s old TV. It could only get three channels, but since Dean wasn’t really watching, he also didn’t care. 

He occupied himself with field-stripping, cleaning and lubricating all of their guns. He also sharpened their knifes while Sam looked on in fascination from the other side of the crib; a mini-burglar in a mini-cell. Although, Dean had to admit; none of the baddies he had seen in prison had ever tried to drool their way through the bars… 

When all guns had been cleaned, knifes had been polished, holy water had been refilled and the crosses, hex bags, charms and amulets were organized and arranged according to category and size on the coffee table, Dean fell back against the cushions, looked at the time and groaned. Not even three o’clock.

He got up and made himself a sandwich, which he ate without really tasting it. He tried to play the hide and seek game with Sam, like he had seen the angel do the night before, but his brother didn’t even try to pull the blanket away this time. When Dean eventually took it off for him, he was only met with an accusing, blue stare.

Apparently Dean wasn’t as much fun as Castiel had been...

He shot a glance down the hallway, but the door to the guestroom was still stubbornly closed.

“He doesn’t want my help,” he tried to explain, looking down at Sam, who was lying on the seat next to him on the couch. Sam looked up at him, still with the same frown on his face, and Dean defensively threw his hand out to the side.

“What?” he asked. “You don’t think I know that he’s sick? I know that, but this isn’t something I can fix with a glass of water and an aspirin.”

He sighed, leaning forward to rest his elbows on his knees, running his hands through his hair.

“So he has a crush on me! No big deal…” He really tried to make it sound as if it wasn’t. “It’s probably just a temporary thing, some angel-mumbo-jumbo side effect. It’ll pass. He’ll get better, and then everything will go back to normal.” 

Alright, so that lie was just pathetic.

He settled back against the backrest of the couch and sighed heavily. Did angels even have crushes? Like, a crush was something you had on the cute girl at school, not on a full-grown monster-hunter with obvious intimacy issues… Then again, if it wasn’t a crush, then what the hell was it? It couldn’t be love. No, that was preposterous; angels didn’t fall in love with humans. Right…?

It would be easier if it was a crush, though, because then there might still be a chance that it would pass; that Castiel’s feelings for Dean would go away once this grace-situation was settled. But if it was  _ love _ …

Through the haze of his drunken memory, Bobby’s question from the night before came floating back to him, voice low and words serious;

_ Do you at least  _ care _ for the guy? _

He closed his eyes and thought about that worn trench coat and the backwards tie, the confused little head tilt and the incomprehensible frown. That soul searching, blue stare and those full lips, the sound of a hitched breath and a shuddered moan…

Fuck, he couldn’t  _ concentrate _ . It was impossible for him to determine which feelings were his and which were caused by the grace running amok in his body. He and Cas were  _ friends,  _ for Christ’s sake! Friends had no business thinking about each other like that! He sure as hell had never thought about Cas in that way  _ before _ . He was sure that he hadn’t…  

Oh, how the hell was he supposed to know? He  _ wasn’t gay _ ; he knew that much, and per automatics that meant that he couldn’t be in love with Castiel either.

As if on cue, the thought of Castiel’s ragged breaths re-entered his mind and he felt a spark of heat go off at the base of his spine when his lower regions immediately stirred to life. He groaned and tilted his head back while fisting his hands by his side. 

He needed a distraction. The grace kept hounding him for attention and he knew damn well that if he stayed where he was, it wouldn’t be long before it eventually got the better of him. Cas had been smart, locking himself in— a luxury Dean didn’t really have at the moment. He had to occupy himself with something… Like,  _ now _ .

Luckily for him, there was both a baby and a house close at hand, and babies and houses always needed to be taken care of. 

Once he had fed Baby Sam his lunch and put him down for his afternoon nap, Dean ventured outside; his mind dead set on the task of chopping up some more wood for the fireplace. Not that he intended to use it, but because it needed to be done. 

He also took the opportunity to mow the poor patch of malnourished grass on the front of the house that served as Bobby’s lawn. Then he moved on to get rid of the rebellious bushes that threatened to colonize the porch, digging them up from the root. 

It felt good, working with his body. The sweat covering his skin almost felt like a cleansing from the past week’s chaos, and when he was done, he was covered from head to toe in sweat and dirt, a pleasantly tired feeling lingering in his muscles.

It was with evident satisfaction that he went back inside and jumped into the steaming shower. He relished in how the hot water and soap washed away the grime from his skin, and he stayed in the shower until the water had run cold and the tips of his fingers had furled. 

When he stepped out to towel himself off, he felt like his very mind had been rinsed by the water along with his body; the thoughts of grace, angels and male body parts far away from his brain. Up until the point when his eyes fell on the hand print seared into his left shoulder.

At the sight of the tainted skin, his heart dropped to his gut. That scar had been there for so long now, he had almost forgotten it even existed. His eyes usually slid over it, the same way they did with a piece of furniture that had been in a room for far too long; it was just  _ there _ . Nothing important or significant. Just a  _ thing _ . 

The sight of it now, however, felt like a punch to the face. Guilt wound its way up around the insides of his chest and  _ squeezed _ , making him feel like shit for even forgetting about it in the first place.

_ Of course I care! The dude pulled me out of Hell, for Christ’s sake… _

He tore his eyes away, willing the bitter taste in the back of his throat down. He quickly pulled on a new pair of underwear, along with his jeans and a t-shirt, making sure the handprint was securely covered beneath the fabric before he walked out of the bathroom to make his way back downstairs. 

His hair was still standing out in unruly, damp spikes, and his foot had barely hit the top ledge of the stairs when he heard the silent pads of footsteps coming from below.

“Cas?” he called out, catching a glimpse of dark hair and a white shirt moving on the other side of the rails as he peered downstairs.

“Cas, wait!” 

He hurried down, taking the final three steps in one, giant leap, just in time for the sound of the guestroom door slamming shut to reach his ears. Bolting down the hallway, he rushed towards the door, but when his hand clutched around the handle, it was already locked from the inside. 

Glaring at the barrier in his path, he barely managed to hold back the frustrated growl that threatened to escape his throat as he let go of the doorknob to take a step back. He knew better than to call out for Cas to open, so instead he quietly went back into the living room, looking around for signs of what the angel had been doing in there. 

Finding nothing, he came to the conclusion that Cas had probably just gone out to check in on Sam when he heard that Dean was walking around upstairs. 

Well, at least that was something. If Cas was still coherent enough to think about Sam first hand, then maybe things weren’t as bad as Dean had feared? 

He stalked back into the living room and flung himself down on the couch with a tired sigh, grabbing the remote and turning on the TV. Flipping through the channels, he then tried to think of anything but how things would have gone, had he managed to get a hold of the door before it had closed behind the angel before. 

They could have talked, sorted this out. There would probably have been a fight, sure, and odds were that he would have ended up pushing the other up against the wall, yelling in his face, and then… Yeah, he had a pretty good idea about what would most likely have happened after that.

Groaning, he reached down to adjust himself through his trousers. Goddamnit, this was ridiculous…! 

TV, he told himself firmly. Just focus on the TV and everything will be just fine… 

Half an hour later, however, he was forced to abandon the screen in order to change his screaming brother, though, it wasn’t as much a change as it was holding the soiled child over the bath tub and hosing him down before putting on a new diaper. Dean figured that as long as it got the job done, they’d be great. 

He attempted another play session, but Sam wasn’t interested, so Dean just put him back in the crib, where the child fell asleep in two seconds flat. Dean returned to the TV in search of something to entertain/distract himself with, but found nothing but different levels of boredom. 

He settled for the least painful option, which was some kind of quiz show marathon, and as time ticked on, the sun outside the window slowly began to settle in the horizon. Shadows stretched across the carpet on the floor, and soon, the blue tinted glare of the TV was the only thing illuminating the couch where he sat.

As Dean’s eyelids grew increasingly heavier, the shapes of the room began to blur around the edges. In less than ten minutes, both Winchesters were sound asleep, only thing differing being the volume of their respective snoring.

 

/\/\/\/\/\/\

 

When Dean’s head shot up from the armrest of the couch, the living room was nearly pitch black. The quiz show had since long ended, and instead the screen was now displaying the standard SMPTE colour test image, the clock at the centre shining the time in Dean’s face. Half past two.

There was hysterical crying originating from the crib and Dean stumbled to his feet, sending the remote crashing from his lap and down onto the floor. He was by the bed in less than a second, hoisting Sam—who apparently was attempting to bring the entire house down with lung power alone—up onto his shoulder. 

Dean tried to shush him, but to no avail. He rocked the child in his arms, he rubbed his back, and damn it, he even tried to  _ sing _ , but Sam only amped up the volume and kept going. There was just no stopping it! Dean had heard of the term ‘scream until your ears bleed’ but this was fucking  _ ridiculous _ .

“C’mon, Sammy, shhh, it’s alright, everything’s okay…” He whispered the words, not that he knew why—the racket his brother made had probably woken Castiel up already, if the angel was even sleeping.

“Aw man, you’re cracking my skull open here,” he groaned. “Shhh…”

“What’s the matter with him?”

Dean’s gut flipped at the sound of the gruff voice coming from behind him. He swivelled around, finding Castiel leaning heavily against the doorframe to the living room. His hair and feathers were rumpled, strands of each haphazardly sticking out in an unruly mess. The blue tie had been loosened and was hanging low around his neck, his trench coat and suit jacket nowhere to be seen. It made him look almost naked where he stood, wearing only his white dress shirt and dark slacks. 

He appeared weary and tired, but his eyes were sharp and attentive as he looked at the child in Dean’s arms. Dean was too relieved to see him to even get embarrassed of the sharp pang of arousal the dishevelled sight of him sent through his body.

“I don’t know,” he wailed over the noise. “He just won’t stop!” 

Castiel walked up to him and placed a hand on Sam’s forehead, closing his eyes for a second while he stretched into the child’s consciousness.

“He’s got cramps in his stomach,” he said firmly before fixing Dean with a sharp stare. “How many times did you feed him today?”

“Three.”

“Did you make him eruct?”

“Did I make him  _ what _ ?”

Castiel closed his eyes and let out a sigh so frustrated Dean had to fight a violent impulse to back away from him. The angel looked like he was a hair’s width away from smiting something, the irritation pulsating against Dean’s skin causing the hairs on his arms to stand on end.

“ _ Burp _ , Dean,” he clarified impatiently. “Did you make him  _ burp? _ ”

“Uh…. No, I— Uh….”

Castiel rolled his eyes and then resolutely pried the screaming child away from Dean’s arms, placing Sam against his shoulder and began patting his back softly.

“He’s swallowed a lot of air. It’s disrupting his bowel movements.” 

The angel said it out loud, but Dean wasn’t sure if the words were directed to him or to the room in general.

“I didn’t know that,” he stuttered. “I thought that only happened when they drank milk.” 

Castiel waved his apology away with an annoyed frown.

“Don’t worry, I can tend to him.”

He had barely finished the sentence when Sam made a low, grotesque sound at the back of his throat. Then, without pardon, he barfed all over Castiel’s raven wings; first once, and then twice. The chunky substance dribbled down the large feathers, covering the iridescent colours to eventually drip onto the floor in sluggishly growing puddles.

“Aw, man...!” Dean grimaced. 

Castiel’s face didn’t as much as twitch. He simply held out the now silent child for Dean to take away, sucking in a deep, controlled breath when his burden was relieved. Dean quickly put the now quiet child back into the crib while Cas flexed his wings with a shudder, like one does with one’s fingers when they come in contact with something horribly unpleasant.

“Hold on, I got it.” Dean took a firm grip around Castiel’s arm and quickly led the angel into the kitchen, where he then proceeded with closing the two large sliding doors behind them before flipped the lights on above the stove. 

He grabbed a kitchen towel from a hook by the fridge, rinsed the cloth in hot water and then maneuvered the angel to stand in front of the sink so that his back was facing him. Making sure that his fingers were kept safely separated from the silky wings by the fabric of the cloth, he then started wiping the large feathers down in big, smoothing strokes.

The tussled feathers were sticking out in all possible directions, making it hard to decipher which way they were really intended to go underneath all the yuck. Eventually, Dean managed to figure out a pattern and carefully began the work of re-aligning the quills. He could sense the grace call out to him from the short distance between the two of them, but he silenced it roughly, burying his mind in the task of getting the angel clean.

”You should take better care of these,” he grunted, dabbing the damp towel over the soiled plumage. Castiel’s brow furrowed at his tone, as if trying to decide whether he had just been scolded or given a helpful suggestion.

“Focus has not been a luxury of mine lately,” he excused himself. He shot Dean a quick glance over the shoulder before resolutely fastening his eyes on the tiles above the counter. ”Grooming is… consuming,” he ended lamely.

Behind him, Dean quirked an eyebrow, moving on to clean the soft downs near the base of the wings.

“What, I thought you guys usually just mojoed yourself clean?” he muttered, but Castiel shook his head.

“It doesn’t quite work that way. Our wings are not intended to be corporeal… This physical form requires more complex handling, and with my grace gone I— It’s difficult.”

Dean nodded, taking the strained tone of the other’s voice as a sign not to ask more questions about it. Instead, they both fell silent as the hunter submerged himself in the task of cleaning up the mess his brother had made, the minutes slowly ticking by. 

A lot of the stickiness had gone quite deep into the feathers and Dean had to reach past Castiel more than once to rinse the towel from excess goo in the sink. As he did so, he noticed that the angel was still staring resolutely into the wall, hands balled into fists against the countertop.

“Does it hurt?” he asked, hesitating to resume his ministrations, but Castiel shook his head. 

“It’s fine, I’m just—  ” He let the end of the sentence drop with a shaky sigh.

“You want me to stop?”

“No. It’s alright.”

“I’m almost done,” Dean assured him. “Just about half of it left.”

It was a bit of an exaggeration really; Dean had been as good as finished for quite some time now, but this was a window of opportunity that he had been waiting for all day. If Castiel thought that he still needed to be cleaned, then perhaps Dean could keep him here long enough to talk to him. 

Fuck, he knew that their situation was beyond crazy, with the grace and the feelings and everything, but he didn’t want Cas to avoid him because of it. He didn’t want the angel to go back into hiding before they had a chance to talk things through. Dean wasn’t much for heart-to-heart conversations normally, but this wasn’t exactly normal… He needed an icebreaker, though, because the silence inside the kitchen right now was so tense he could almost taste it on the tip of his tongue.

“You know…” he murmured. “If it helps, I could do this whole cleaning thing for you more often…?”

Underneath the towel, the powerful muscles of Castiel’s wing stiffened as a few of the top feathers perked up attentively.

“That’s a… generous offer,” Castiel grated.

“Generous?” Dean asked, catching on to the hesitant tone in the other’s voice, and Castiel swallowed thickly.

“It’s— Tending to a fellow angel’s wings is usually something that’s done… between mates only,” Castiel mumbled. 

Dean didn’t need to hear the tone of that sentence in order to figure out that telling him this was something Castiel found to be extremely embarrassing. Considering what Dean now knew about the angel’s feelings towards him, along with what Dean was already in the process of doing—what Castiel was  _ letting _ him do—he couldn’t say that he blamed the guy.

Still… it was all pretty fucking amazing, when he thought about it. Freaky mojo sex aside, Castiel was still an angel, and the feathers beneath Dean’s hands were  _ actual, solid  _ angel feathers. Holy shit, he was being allowed to touch an  _ angel’s wings _ , in the  _ flesh _ ; something that shouldn’t be physically possible, even less allowed. 

Dean and Sam had been hunters throughout their entire lives, and they had seen some pretty messed up shit in their days; mostly things that wanted to kill them, in some way or form. The times they had come across something otherworldly that were more awe-inspiring than deadly were few—very few—yet Dean was willing to bet his own damn car that this right here had to be the most astonishing moment of them all.

His hand stilled, but didn’t come to a complete halt against the limbs on Castiel’s back. It simply slid the towel slowly along the long pinion feathers, gently caressing and stroking them down while attempting to convey the honour he felt of being allowed to do so through the touch.

“So this is actually something… intimate?” he asked quietly.

“Quite so,” Castiel rasped quietly.

“Doesn’t it feel strange…?” Dean asked. “Having me do this then? You know, after… last night?”

He hadn’t thought that asking such a question would make him so nervous, not after everything that they had gone through with those damn wings already, but it did. Something was different this time. Something significant.

There was a change in the air compared to earlier. An electric buzz that told him that this was intimate on a whole other level than physical pleasure, and he needed to make sure that Castiel was okay with that. He owed him as much. 

“No,” Castiel said after what felt like forever. “It feels… nice.”

Dean could sense something deep inside his gut spark to life at the angel’s words. Without thinking about what he was doing, he brought his other hand up to gently skim his fingers across the velvety surface of Castiel’s left wing. He felt a light tremor course through the limb at the same time as a thrum of  _ something  _ shot up the length of his arm at the touch, making him feel lightheaded. 

The wings seemed to hum in response beneath his fingertips, as in recognition, and he could feel his pulse begin to pick up speed where he stood, his mouth running dry.

“Nice how?” he whispered, repeating the motion, unable to stop the breathless sigh that snuck itself into the end of the sentence as Castiel’s breath hitched.

“Tingly.” The angel’s voice broke, unable to keep itself steady.

The towel, now having served its purpose, silently fell to the floor by Dean’s feet. Having both hands free, he reached up and gripped lightly around the outer frame of Castiel’s wings. Dragging down slowly, he watched in fascination how every individual feather he touched snapped up in attention in the wake of his fingers. 

The gasp that fell from the angel’s lips as he did so was nothing short of intoxicating, but the sharp sound of it somehow managed to snap Dean out of the haze he had been drifting into. His eyes widened as he stared at his own hands, at the fingers curled around the edges of Castiel’s wings, pulse pounding inside his head.

Fuck, what was he  _ doing?! _

He swallowed, fighting to break free from the soothing grip of the grace that had already begun to wind itself through his system. 

He had to let go. He had to move away. This was not what he had intended to do, fuck, this wasn’t what he had planned at all! 

His thoughts were screaming at him, yet his feet remained firmly planted on the floor, his arms stiff and unmoving. Instead, he watched in mixed horror and fascination how his fingers continued to move, coaxing soft trembles out of the limbs beneath them. He couldn’t stop. Didn’t want to stop. Oh, dear God, he _had to_ _stop._

Air rushed up and down his throat, breathing ragged. He was already gathering every last inch of strength that he could muster, preparing to tear himself away, when his gaze dropped to rest upon the angel’s shoulders.

Castiel’s white shirt was sticking to his skin in large, damp patches, and there were glistening beads of sweat pearling at his temples. He was shaking, feathers rustling, and his breathing was, if possibly, even more laboured than Dean’s was.

Castiel was sick, the voice in the back of Dean’s head reminded him, but something else; something far older and wiser slipped inbetween and corrected it. 

Castiel was not sick. 

He was dying. 

He was  _ dying _ ; right there in Bobby’s kitchen, and the thought made it feel like the floorboards had just opened up beneath Dean’s feet and swallowed him whole. 

Castiel was  _ dying _ .

The angel shuddered, breath hitching. The sound of it raged through Dean’s body with a flash of scorching fire, making his stomach pull tight as the urges pulled and tore at his insides.

“Dean,” Castiel breathed. “You don’t have to—”

“Be quiet, Cas,” Dean snapped, the sound of the other’s ragged breathing enough to make his composure crumble at the edges. Castiel, who had been about to turn around, stilled beneath his touch and obediently turned to face the tiled wall once more. 

Dean closed his eyes, sucking down air into his lungs, trying to calm down. He wanted to turn tail and run, to get away from the surge that was clawing at him like a wild animal from the inside out, but he couldn’t. 

_ Castiel was dying. _

His head was spinning, heart racing, and he knew that he shouldn’t be doing this, not without permission. He knew that he shouldn’t even  _ want _ to do this, and yet here he was, fingers already combing through feathers and his dick swelling inside his pants.

He gritted his teeth, trying one last time to make it stop, to gain control and figure out another way to do this, to  _ help _ , but then Castiel moved, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. That single movement was enough, the feeling of feathers vibrating against Dean’s skin turning his entire body into a live wire of electricity. 

“Is this what you want?” Dean rasped.

Castiel shook, his fingers curling hard against the counter.

“It doesn’t matter what I want,” he whispered hoarsely.

“It does,” Dean insisted. “You’re in pain.”

“I’ll live…” Castiel hissed.

“No, you  _ won’t _ ,” Dean growled. “Without this, you’ll die, and you know it.”

The wings beneath the palms of his hands were sparking with energy, and he could feel the familiar tug on his mind urge him to grip tighter, to move faster. There was something about those dark feathers, something insistent that pulled and beckoned him to come closer, to feel, touch and explore; to ravish, claim and never, ever let go. 

“If you’ll let me, I’ll help you,” Dean whispered, voice shaking, “but I can’t stop on my own, Cas. If you don’t wanna do this, then you’ll need to help me fight it. You’ll need to tell me to  _ stop _ .”

God, the very thought should scare him, even make him feel ashamed of himself for thinking about doing such things to someone he considered to be his friend. Especially now, when he knew how Castiel felt about him, but divine aphrodisiac be damned, he couldn’t just leave Cas like this! 

Grace was coiling at his fingertips, like an invisible web of static tension, and he could feel how it was trying to access him. It took a massive amount of self-control just to keep the pleasant buzz at bay, but he could feel his grip on himself already slipping. 

“Tell me what to do,” he begged. “If you want me to do this, then please, you have to tell me…”

“I can’t,” Castiel whimpered. “You don’t really want to hear it…”

“Damnit, Cas, this isn’t about what I _ want _ anymore!”

Castiel stilled, at least as much as he was able to, considering his trembling limbs, and Dean groaned, almost whimpering.

“You can’t expect me to just stand here and watch you die,” he grated. “I can’t do that, Cas. I know you think I’m gonna hate you for it, but I swear to you, I won’t. I just need to hear you _ say it. _ ”

He could hear Castiel swallow; the sound sending a shiver racing up his spine. He waited, willing his mind to go elsewhere while the seconds ticked by, leaving him feeling as if he was nearly drifting out of his own body.

“Do it…”

Dean sucked in a sharp breath inbetween his teeth, body tensing.

“Are you su—”

“Dean, please,” Cas hissed. “Don’t make me say it again. Just— ”  

Dean didn’t let him finish.

Stepping closer, as if he was being pulled forth like a magnet, Dean pushed himself against the flat of Castiel’s back, trapping the other against the counter with gentle pressure. His fingers dug deeper into the downs of the wings in his grasp, reaching to knead at the very base of the taut muscles underneath, causing Castiel to let out a startled moan at the unexpected touch. 

The angel’s hands slid over the counter, grappling around the edges of the cool metal sink with whitening knuckles. Castiel hung his head down, releasing another strangled groan into the basin below when Dean’s thumbs rolled over his muscles for a second time.  

The thrill Dean felt at the sound made his entire body flush hot, causing his mouth to run dry and his head to sear, yet somehow his hands remained calm and steady as they continued to work the tension out of the angel’s wings.

His body had a very strong idea about what they should be doing right now, but Dean resolutely banished those urges to the back of his head… at least the more colourful ones. 

The battle had been lost the moment his skin made contact with Castiel’s wings, he realized that, but fuck, he had his dignity. That one time against the door of the Impala had been a relief out of proportions, but this was different. This time, he couldn’t just let circumstance shove him into the release by himself. 

Cas was sick; he could feel the fever raging through his friend’s body even through the mass of feathers in between them, and he knew very well what was at stake here. He knew what he would be required to do, and he wasn’t going to back down, not now, but fuck, did the thought scare him.

He opened his eyes, looking at the male form before him. As he watched, he saw a bead of sweat slowly roll down the nape of the angel’s neck, and his stomach pulled together into a million aching knots, just watching the sweat disappear down the edge of that white collar. 

Control was an illusion. Nothing but smoke dissolving in the shudder of his laboured breathing, and he couldn’t help but think about how Castiel deserved so much better than this. Better than someone like him; hopped up on angel juice and unable to control himself. Barely capable of thinking straight.

He knew what the grace wanted; what it made him want. He had demanded Cas give him permission, but he knew, deep down, that should he have tried to do this without it, then Castiel wouldn’t have stopped him. He would have let Dean have his way with him in whatever fashion he desired, and the thought on its own made Dean feel sick to his stomach. He’d never do that, not to anyone. To force himself on someone for his own pleasure’s sake. He  _ refused  _ to do that.

His hands had begun to shake; from fury or arousal, he couldn’t tell. He wanted nothing more but to touch, to feel, and he forcefully reminded himself that he had to go slow. That he had to ease into this, the  _ thought _ of this, first, or he would lose his mind. He had to do this  _ right _ … for both their sakes.

So instead of doing all the things his mind wanted him to, he allowed his hands to slowly continue massaging down the feather clad limbs, feeling the tension underneath ease up with every determined roll of his thumbs.

Eyes fixed on his hands, he listened to the sound of the breathless moans and gasps his actions pulled out of Castiel’s mouth, feeling him shake beneath his touch. Dean’s jeans were tenting, painfully tight below his waistline, and it took an incredible amount of self-restraint not to simply press himself flush against Castiel’s back to grind himself against the angel’s ass. 

He worked slow, fighting the grace, which was screaming inside his head to just get on with it. By the time he got to the very base of the wings, Castiel was doubled over across the counter, propped up on shaky arms with his eyes screwed shut and one hand desperately clinging to the tap in the sink so hard the metal had begun to bend beneath the pressure. 

Castiel’s entire body was shivering now. Violent tremors running through his frame and causing his wings to twitch every time Dean changed the pressure of his fingers; from firm and resolved to teasing, quivers wrecking through the angel’s body and making the breath catch in his throat.

The sight was mind blowing. 

It was terrifying.

“Cas…” Dean swallowed. “Spread out your wings for me…”

Blue eyes cracked open to look at him questioningly over a trembling shoulder, but Cas did as he was told. Slowly, he spread his wings out as much as the small room would accommodate, up until the large appendages were brushing against the wallpaper. 

“They’re bigger…” Dean rasped, spreading his fingers to trace the length of the wings as far as he could reach.

“I—I grew them out,” Castiel choked. “They f—feel better this—”

He cut himself off, moaning into the countertop as Dean’s hands gripped him tighter, causing ripples of pleasure to course through the feathers. 

“Fuck, Cas…” Dean breathed, noticing with horror how husky his voice had become.

Closing his eyes, he leaned forward and pressed his lips against the spot where the wings joined with Castiel’s clothing in a seamless line; almost melting together as were they one.

It was not meant to excite or arouse; merely a silent apology for what he was about to do, and he prayed that the angel would be able to forgive him for it when it was all over. 

_ You deserve better…  _

The kiss left an electric tingle on his lips, as if they had gone numb from the brief contact. Driven by curiosity and a force he had no control over, he leaned forward and slowly slid his tongue over the same spot again. Beneath him, Castiel let out a choked cry and arched up into the touch, wings flipping and body desperately shoving back against Dean’s own. 

The sudden friction of the other rubbing against him through his jeans made Dean’s knees buckle. He responded by immediately wrapping his arm around Castiel’s waistline, shoving him back up against the counter with a primal growl, like the low rumble of oncoming thunder. 

“Dean.”

God, the sound of Castiel’s wrecked voice shot straight to his groin, and he could literally feel the restraints of his libido snap one by one as the other began rocking back against him. The collar of Castiel’s pristine white shirt was rubbing against the side of Dean’s neck and Dean nuzzled his face closer, biting down loosely on the lobe of Castiel’s right ear.

The excited whisper of wings reached his ears, spurring him on. Slowly, he eased his way down, leaving marks with his teeth and lips that were sure to bruise later, but who the fuck cared about such trivial things as bruises at a time like this? 

Castiel was panting hard, gasping and moaning, and when Dean began to suckle at the angel’s pulse, Castiel made a noise that Dean decided simply shouldn’t be legal. 

“Dean… Dean,  _ please… _ ”

Oh, to hell with it…!

Tearing himself away, Dean grasped around Castiel’s shoulder with a growl and whirled him around. He almost forgot to duck when one of the enormous wings came whooshing towards him, while the other successfully managed to knock over basically every single thing that stood on both the kitchen table and the counter, but Dean couldn’t care less. 

Within a second, he was back in Cas’s personal space, pressing his already swollen lips against the other’s with a snarl, not caring about the painful clash their teeth made on impact. Castiel’s mouth opened up with a gasp, letting Dean’s tongue inside without protests or hesitation as he kissed back almost as ferociously as the Winchester. Moaning, he tried to bury his fingers in Dean’s hair, but quickly settled for simply grabbing and holding on to the collar of his washed out t-shirt instead.

Dean brought his hands up and  _ raked _ through the smaller, softer feathers on the inside of Castiel’s wings, the action rendering the angel completely limp against the countertop. Castiel’s eyes rolled back into his head, violent tremors wrecking through his body as the most voracious groan Dean had ever heard clawed itself out of the angel’s throat. 

Dean repeated the action again, and again, and  _ again, _ until Castiel was just a quivering, writhing mess, clawing at his chest with blunt fingernails for something solid to hold on to as he shook and squirmed in front of him.

Dean’s hard on was rubbing up against Castiel’s thigh and he knew that he should feel ashamed of this animalistic display of dry-humping, but he just couldn’t bring himself to care, even less stop. Instead, he pushed his own thigh forward and in between Castiel’s legs, and as he brought it up Castiel gave a loud, startled cry, eyes shooting open to stare into his with something akin to awe. 

Somewhere deep inside Dean’s brain, that calm voice from before reminded him that Castiel, this warrior and ancient servant of God, was still at a complete loss when it came to the subject of relief from human, physical urges. That notion should have made him slow down, perhaps even regain some of the composure he had lost during the last ten minutes, but it didn’t. 

How was he supposed to stop this now? Especially since Castiel had begun to mimic his actions, thrusting against him in earnest, desperate and lost in this new sensation with his pupils blown wide and his neck craned back. Broken words and syllables fell from his mouth in a steady stream, and the whimpers punching out of the angel’s chest could have passed for English, if only Dean hadn’t known for a fact that they weren’t. 

Castiel’s hands were clamped around the top of Dean’s shoulders, gripping him like a lifeline, but pushing him away at the same time. As if the prospect of getting closer was something terrifying and dangerous; as if Dean’s mere breath would be enough to rip him into pieces.

“Dean…” he panted, eyelids fluttering. “Oh, Dean… Please, I—  _ Oh! _ ”

The way Castiel was losing control in front of him, writhing and twisting in order to get closer, nearer, further… it was enough to make Dean’s entire body ache. The fingers digging into his shoulders twitched and Dean could feel the white noise inside his head grow louder as his own pleasure began to peak.

Growling, he reached down and grabbed hold of Castiel’s leg, hoisting him up not to sit on the countertop, but enough to close those few eluding inches that separated their groins from one another. 

Castiel choked out a cry as they rubbed against each other through the rough fabric of their clothes and Dean muffled his own strangled groan by burying his face against Castiel’s shoulder. He could feel the hard length of Castiel’s cock press up against his own, and when he looked up he could se the way Castiel’s wings were laying splayed out over the counter, twitching, convulsing and shaking in time with the thrusts. 

For some reason, that sight was even more arousing than any other thing Dean had seen in his entire life. His hips stuttered, shoving forward so hard the pantrydoors of the counter behind them shook, and just like that, Dean realized that he was literally dry humping his best friend against the interior of the kitchen. 

The insight was so bright and clear that it was almost painful; more than sufficient to momentarily clear the grace away from his muddled brain long enough for the panic to kick back in.

He stilled, turning his head towards Castiel. He wanted to tell him that they had to stop, to say that this was wrong; that they shouldn’t,  _ mustn’t! _ He wanted to apologise, to beg forgiveness for his lack of self-control. Jesus, how could he have done this? How could he have let this happen?

Dean opened his mouth, struggling to find the right words as his gaze locked with Castiel’s, the angel’s hips still rocking against his, making his legs quake. Blue eyes, glassy and half lidded looked back at him through the haze, and then the hand on Dean’s shoulder slid down to gently fold over the handprint on his left arm. 

It was as if the world had exploded into a million shards of crystalized light. The kitchen disappeared, leaving him floating, and just like last time, Dean could  _ feel _ Castiel inside him, around him. Every blinding spark of pleasure exploded against the walls of his mind like fireworks against a night sky, every breathtaking rush of blood sending his body convulsing, and weaved into it all was the overwhelming knowledge that  _ it was okay _ . 

There was no uncertainty, no regrets, and as if that was the permission he had been unconsciously waiting for, every muscle in Dean’s entire body tightened up as he came, almost painfully hard. Spilling inside his trousers, he gave a strangled cry that surely would render him hoarse for hours to come as the orgasm wrecked through him like a giant tidal wave. 

Grace flowed through them, around them, and it burned against Dean’s skin in white-hot streams so bright he had to close his eyes. He felt Castiel stiffen and arch against him, a single, broken “ _ yes! _ ” falling from the angel’s mouth before Cas finally pulled him close, riding out the high of his orgasm against the hunter’s thigh. His bruised lips moved against the nape of Dean’s neck, letting out choked gasps and whimpers against his skin as the angel struggled for air, desperately trying to remember how to form words,  _ any _ words.

Dean had no idea how long they stayed like that, eyes closed, limbs tangled, breath ghosting over skin in the fading light, but he was brought back to the present when a soft tingle brushed against his face, making him shudder. 

When he opened his eyes, he saw that Castiel’s dark wings had wrapped around them both, like a second pair of arms. One of the smaller feathers on the inside of the left wing was ghosting against his cheek and Dean warily reached up and pinched it in between his thumb and index finger, earning a sigh and a soft tremor from the body pressing against his.

“Hey, you okay?” he asked, his voice sounding just as wrecked as he had anticipated.

The wings around him rustled softly as they were pulled back and folded behind Castiel’s back once more. The look in Castiel’s blue eyes was still a bit dazed when they darted up to meet with Dean’s green ones, but then Cas blinked and nodded slowly.

“I’m fine…” he murmured. “That was—“

“Intense,” Dean ended breathlessly.

“Yes,” Castiel agreed after a brief moment of contemplation. “’Intense’, I believe, is a good word for it.”

The corner of Dean’s mouth quirked up into a smile at the seriousness in the other’s voice, earning him a quizzical look in return. 

“Did I say something funny?” Castiel asked, perplexed. Blue eyes narrowed as they squinted at Dean, making him shift uncomfortably. 

He realized with a start that he still had his left arm circled around the angel’s waist, and he abruptly let go, wiping his suddenly sweaty palms on the front of his jeans. Castiel’s eyes flickered down to follow them as they dragged over the worn denim, suspicious slits of blue studying intently as Dean brought the hands up to rub awkwardly at the back of his own neck.

Dean swallowed; panic slowly kicking to the surface, the uncomfortable wetness in his boxers an undeniable reminder of what they had just done. What  _ he _ had just done. Oh, my God, what had he  _ done?! _

“Ya’know…“ He snorted out a laugh, cringing on the inside when he heard his voice crack with oncoming hysteria. “If I had known that this would happen I would have bought you dinner first.”

Castiel frowned, confused, and Dean knew that the other had absolutely no idea what he was referring to, but he kept rambling on nonetheless. The words tumbled from his mouth before he could stop them, sounding more and more panicked and out of control with every single syllable, but he  _ had _ to talk; he had to say  _ something! _

“Next time I think we should definitely try to get past the clothing, though,” he grimaced, looking down at his own feet. He could feel the shift in the air when Castiel’s gaze turned to lock onto his face, intense like a searchlight, but he dared not look up as his mouth went on and on. “I mean,” he chuckled, again with that sharp twinge of panic slicing through the sentence. “As nice as that was, it’s not all that comfortable when your boxers begin to crust.”

“Dean…”

“And then of course there’s the laundry part,” Dean added with a nervous laugh. “I don’t know if Bobby’s fixed the washing machine yet, but the last time we were here, we had to go into town to even—”

“ _ Dean _ .”

Dean’s gaze unwillingly rose from the floorboards inbetween his boots, bringing him face to face with the man standing in front of him. The look he met in those blue eyes made his throat pull tight.

“Next time?” Castiel’s voice was unreadable, but the expression of shocked surprise on his face compensated for that, making Dean’s nearing panic die out like a snowflake in hot water.

“Well… don’t you want there to be a next time?” he asked, slightly confused.

“Do you?” Castiel asked, 

“Well, I—” Dean stammered. “It’s not like we have much of a choice, right? Because of the grace, I mean.”

“So you don’t?” Castiel’s face dropped.

“No!” Dean blurted out the answer before his mind caught up with what he had been asked, and he winced, cringing. “I mean yes! No, I mean—” He cut himself off, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Damnit, I don’t know, alright?”

Castiel’s wings sagged behind his back, a shadow falling over his face.

“Cas, for fuck’s sake…” Dean groaned. “This ain’t exactly easy…!” 

He backed away, dragging frustrated hands through his hair while attempting to find the words as he started pacing back and forth in the kitchen. Shards of a broken plate crusted under the heel of his boot, his legs still a bit wobbly as post-orgasmic aftershocks still worked their way through his system. He tried to think, to explain what he wanted to say, but his brain just kept swimming in and out of focus, making the logic behind his thoughts even harder to express.

“I mean, I  _ want _ there to be a next time,” he tried, that hysterical undertone slowly working its way back up his throat. “But I don’t know  _ why _ I want there to be one. You get what I mean?” He looked up, searching Castel’s features for any trace of guidance, but the angel just regarded him silently, head cocked to the side with eyes squinting, listening. 

“I just— You’re my friend, Cas, you know that, but you have to understand—”

“My vessel disturbs you,” Castiel cut in, stating the fact as if he had just plucked it straight out of Dean’s head—which was probably exactly what he had done—and Dean threw his hands out to the side in relief.

“Yes!” he exclaimed. “It does. I’m not into dudes, Cas. I like  _ girls _ .” He pulled his hand over his eyes, sighing deeply. “But none of that shit matters, okay, because that’s not the point.”

Castiel’s brow furrowed even deeper.

“Then what is?”

Dean moved back to the counter, reaching his hand out. For a moment his brain contemplated dragging his thumb along the side of Castiel’s jaw, but Dean deflected the thought, ending up resting his hand on the angel’s shoulder instead.

“The  _ point _ …” He brought his other hand up, emphasising the word. “… is that I need to know if you’re okay with this.” 

His eyes darted up to Castiel’s face, but he couldn’t bring himself to meet with those blue eyes for long, feeling cornered and far too exposed for his own liking. 

“Because…” He looked back down, eyes locking onto the haphazard length of Castiels dishevelled tie. “Doing these things to you when I know how you—” He inhaled, swallowing hard when his throat threatened to close in on itself. “When I know how you feel about me,” he continued, voice thick. “And it’s just— I can’t, man. Not if it somehow makes you— Damnit, I don’t want to  _ hurt  _ you.”

Castiel’s eyes shot to the ground and Dean could feel the muscles draw tight underneath the white shirt in his grasp.

“I believe I asked you to forget about that conversation,” Castiel rasped. Dean snorted out a disbelieving laugh.

“Forget about it?” he asked. “How the hell am I supposed to forget about it, Cas? Being told that someone’s in love with you ain’t exactly something a guy can ignore.”

The angel glared at him, for a moment looking as if he wanted to shake Dean’s hand away from his shoulder. Then his gaze dropped to Dean’s mouth and his face softened, the momentary anger dissolving into something much more painful. Dean watched as Castiel reached up, and he closed his eyes with a sigh when he felt the other’s fingers gingerly splay against his jawline as Castiel followed through with Dean’s own failed gesture from moments before.

“My emotions should not be your concern, Dean,” Castiel whispered, making Dean grit his teeth with frustration.

“But they  _ are, _ ” he hissed, tightening his grip around Castiel’s shoulder as he opened his eyes again. “Don’t you get it?” he pleaded. “I can’t stop this, we both know I can’t; but we shouldn’t be doing it if it means that I’m gonna end up hurting you!”

Castiel’s finger’s twitched against Dean’s skin, but didn’t move away.

“You could never hurt me, Dean. I’ve told you before, this is  _ my _ choice.”

“Goddamnit…”

Dean shook his head as he let go of Castiel’s shoulder, backing away from the other’s touch. Castiel canted his head the other way, looking at him like one would look at a spooked animal, concern and sorrow lining the edges of his eyes.

“I don’t want to force you into anything, you know this,” he said calmly. “I’m well aware of the fact that I in no way resemble the type you normally prefer—”

“Your boobs sure could be bigger,” Dean muttered testily, but Castiel ignored him.

“I don’t want you to feel uneasy in my presence,” he said. “And if you wish it—” He hesitated, as if he was second-guessing what he was about to say before continuing, “If you wish it, I’ll erase all of your memories from the past month the very moment my grace returns.” The blue colour in his eyes seemed to crackle when they met with Dean’s green ones. “You have my word.” 

Dean stared at him. The offer should have made him feel grateful, or at least relieved, but instead all he felt was suspicious dread and anxious guilt. 

“But… what about you?” he asked out hesitantly. “Wouldn’t you still remember everything?”

“I remember a lot of things.” Castiel deadpanned. “Some more pleasant than others.” 

Dean narrowed his eyes at him, jaw setting defiantly.

“Somehow, the thought of you remembering us doing the do while I don’t, makes me feel just a tad bit uncomfortable,” he pointed out.

“More uncomfortable than the thought of having to remember it yourself?” Castiel asked quietly. His wings were still low behind his back, dejection weighing them down, and the sight was heartbreaking. 

Dean thought about the first time he had seen them; the anguish Castiel had gone through in order to hide them from him before finally growing them out. Not wanting to display the sacrifice the angel had made in order to save both Dean’s and Sam’s lives. This was basically the same, Dean realized. Castiel offering to sacrifice his own emotions to spare Dean the discomfort. Typicall, yes, and oh, so frustrating.

“So… I wouldn’t get to remember anything?” Dean asked warily.

“No,” Castiel answered.

Dean nodded, licking his lips.

“Then no,” he said firmly. “I’m not making that deal with you.”

“Dean, it’s a burden I’m willing to carry,” Castiel tried.

“And that’s why the answer will always be no,” Dean clarified, voice hardening. 

Castiel looked at him, clearly not understanding, and Dean sighed.

“We’re in this mess together, okay?” he said. “That’s how this works; how it  _ always  _ works. Does it freak me out? Of course it fucking does. Does that mean I’m gonna leave you here to die? Not in a million years.”

He cleared his throat.

“I just need to know that— If you’ll be okay with me… helping you again. When you need it.”

For a moment, Castiel looked just as confused as before, but then his eyes widened as he straightened up against the counter.

“You want my consent.” 

“ _ Of course _ I want your consent!” Dean exclaimed. “I don’t want to  _ rape  _ you, damnit, I—” 

“Is that the only thing bothering you?”

“Like fuck it’s the only thing,” Dean snarled, but then he deflated, burying his face in both his hands. “Sorry,” he winced. “I didn’t mean it like that.”

Castiel, unbelievably enough, smiled.

“Don’t worry,” he assured him. “The regret in your thoughts makes it very clear that you had no intention of being rude. Consider the apology accepted.”

The amused whisper of rustling feathers that reached Dean’s ears could have been his imagination playing tricks on him, but somehow Dean wasn’t all too certain about that.

“How very generous of you,” he grumbled, dragging his hands up through his hair. He grimaced, for the first time in several minutes becoming aware of the fact that his underwear was still completely soiled and sticking against his skin.

Castiel threw him an apologetic look.

“I’d clean us up, but… I’m afraid my powers are still insufficient. I’m sorry.”

“It’s alright.” Dean waved him off. “It’s not like you caused the mess on purpose.” 

He looked around the kitchen, eyes darting from the scattered papers that used to be stacked on top of the kitchen table to the broken plates strewn across the floor.

“Although, it would have been nice to work some magic over this situation,” he admitted lowly. He had barely finished the sentence before Cas immediately bent down and began picking with the ceramic shards by his feet. Dean sighed, stepped forward and grabbed him by the shoulder, hoisting him back up.

“Leave ‘em, Cas,” he ordered gently. “Better get yourself cleaned up first.”

Castiel sighed and dropped the collected plate pieces onto the counter, and Dean was pleased to see that the other’s wings had stopped slumping.

He opened his mouth to comment on it, but just as he drew breath, a faint gurgle abruptly rose from the other side of the kitchen doors. It quickly morphed from whimpering little huffing noises into full blown ‘I’ve-got-my-baby-bitch-on-and-I-intend-to-use-it’ crying, and the shrill sound cut into Dean’s ears like tiny little blades.

He sighed heavily, shaking his head when Castiel looked at him questioningly.

“You go on and hit the shower,” he offered, before gesturing to the doors with his head. “I’ll take care of His Crankyness.” 

Castiel nodded and obediently began walking towards the hallway, but after only a few steps, he slowed. Dean watched as the angel frowned—just a barely noticeable crevasse appearing on his brow as Castiel look down at the front of his trousers— before he kept on going. 

Dean followed Castiel with his eyes as the angel made his way out of the kitchen to go upstairs. Judging by the strained look of his walk, it seemed as if Dean wasn’t the only one dealing with unpleasantly moist undergarments at the moment. He even caught himself snickering at the thought when Sam decided to increase the volume of his cries enough to pierce through every wall of the entire house, and Dean groaned as the sound cut into his brain. 

He stalked through the kitchen, stepping over books and broken porcelain, but before he opened up the doors to the living room he stopped to send a pleading look towards the ceiling.

“Please, just don’t let it be poop,” he begged under his breath, but the ceiling remained discouragingly quiet.

 

/\/\/\/\/\/\

 

When Castiel emerged from the bathroom half an hour later, he was only wearing a towel wrapped around his waist. His hair was ruffled and damp, his skin covered in tiny droplets of water that shimmered when he moved, and Dean suppressed the violent urge he had to fling the other up against the nearest wall and lick those drops away when they silently passed each other in the hallway. 

Dean showered, relieved to finally rid himself of his crusty boxers that had begun to stick to his pubic hair, and while he showered, he pondered.

He pondered long and he pondered hard, trying to wrap his head around the development of their current situation.

Castiel had feelings for him. For some reason, the thought didn’t feel as alien now that he had been given some time to get used to it. Castiel had feelings for him, and Dean had to admit that it all seemed to make more sense that way, somehow.

He thought about they way Castiel would always look at him when he thought Dean wouldn’t notice. The way he always showed up the very second Dean called on him. The countless favours and compromises he had made just to make Dean happy, to help them, help him. The  _ sacrifices _ alone...

He wasn’t sure yet if he was comfortable with the thought of having an angelic suitor, but given the situation, it was quite clear that it didn’t really matter what he was comfortable with…

Dean knew that they were going to have to ‘indulge in physical pleasures’ again in order to save both of their hides. None of them would survive if they didn’t, but Dean Winchester had always been a ladies man, and he was still torn between what Castiel’s grace told him he wanted and what his own brain told him he  _ should _ want.

The fact that he knew that Castiel had feelings for him only made the decision harder to make. If there hadn’t been any feelings involved, he would most likely have been able to get himself drunk enough to fuck the angel senseless if he’d asked him to. Afterwards, he’d tell his conscience that it was something that had to be done, that he hadn’t been given a choice. He might even have allowed Castiel to erase his memory like he offered, but… knowing what he knew now… He just couldn’t do that, not to Cas. Besides, even if Castiel said that it was okay, how would Dean be able to know that it actually was? How was he supposed to know if it wasn’t just something Castiel said in order to keep Dean alive?

Castiel already told him that he’d be willing to carry the burden of such a decision, but Dean owed him too much for that. Considering the event that had just taken place downstairs, he’d say that he had already taken enough advantage of his friend as it was. 

It shouldn’t be that hard, though. The grace made Dean  _ want _ to do those things with Castiel, and he knew that Castiel’s body wanted him to do them as well… but afterwards… Once the bliss was over and the waves of pleasure had passed… When Dean’s brain got back to thinking about what they had done… 

That’s when the panic would set in. Just like it had down in the kitchen. 

Dean would be left with the realization that not only had he dry humped his best friend and gotten off on it, but also that he wanted to do it again. Despite the fact that his best friend was a  _ dude _ . 

So far, Dean had done his best trying to act as if the whole sex thing didn’t freak him out, but it did. More so than what he had let on. After all, how was he supposed to react? His sexual preferences had done a complete one-eighty the very moment he had laid hands on Castiel’s wings in that shabby motel room, and even though his body seemed perfectly fine with it, Dean wasn’t.

He was a ladies’ man. A Casanova! A motherfucking  _ stu _ d! 

Dean Winchester was a man dedicated to the art form of pleasing women, in whatever way they saw fit, and he liked it that way.

Now, all of a sudden, all he could think of was his dick in Castiel’s mouth – or the other way around, for that matter – and of course it made him uncomfortable! At least when he wasn’t busy thinking about jumping Castiel’s bones or grinding him against the nearest solid object he could find…

He felt like an asshole, abusing Castiel like that, in spite of knowing how the other felt about him. His conscience made damn sure that he wouldn’t forget about it by smacking him hard across the head with a mental frying pan of righteousness every time his grace-infused thoughts began to stray. 

Because this wasn’t just about sex anymore. Cas  _ loved _ him and even though their activities gave the angel happiness now, what would happen when it was over? When Dean was out of grace to give?

How were they ever supposed to go back to the way things used to be? Just friends, hunter and angel… How were they supposed to act around each other? 

Even if Dean allowed Cas to erase his memory—make him forget about everything that had happened, what they had done, the bond they had grown—how was that  _ not _ going to break Castiel’s heart?   

_ How do you stand being so close to someone, knowing you cannot have them? _

Dean sighed, tilting his face up against the hot stream of the showerhead. 

He knew how feelings worked. This wasn’t the first time someone had fallen for him, although, not in such a biblical manner as Cas had, but he knew how things usually went.

He’d hook up with some girl during a job, she would develop feelings for him and that’s about the time when the mission would be over and he had to move on. Sure, he had always felt a bit guilty about leaving without giving any of them much of an explanation for his departure, but it was for their own good. They wouldn’t believe him anyway, so why bother telling them about it? That was his routine, his personal mantra that he repeated to himself every time he had to break another heart, and it had worked just fine. 

Up until now.

That trick only worked when it involved strangers, but Castiel sure as Hell wasn’t going anywhere soon, and Dean couldn’t exactly leave him behind. Not that he’d want to… Besides, Cas was his friend, and you didn’t just ditch out like that on a friend even if you could. Although… most of the time you didn’t shove your tongue down a friend’s throat either, but that wasn’t the point!

And not because girls were corny, or sappily romantic, or anything like that, but for some reason a love confession from them hadn’t really seemed like that big of a deal.

A love confession from an angel, on the other hand… 

He dug the heels of his palms into his eyes, the noise of rushing water drowning out the sound of his own frustrated groan.

Castiel loved him, and the reason Castiel could be sure of that was, of course, because he had been so for a very long time. Dean on the other hand, had just begun accepting the hard on he developed every time his thoughts lingered on the dark haired male for too long. 

Less than a week ago, the thought of Castiel even being  _ able  _ to harbor romantic or sexual feelings wouldn’t even have crossed Dean’s mind; even less so the thought of Dean possibly  _ returning  _ them.

_ Love _ … It was a word Dean hadn’t quite come to terms with yet. For others it meant happiness. Safety. A picket fence, a golden retriever and a truckload of kids.

For the Winchesters, love had always been more than that. Dean loved Sam, and he had willingly gone to Hell in order to save him. Their father had loved them both – in his own, strange way – and he had given up his life to save Dean’s. Their mere existence was filled with sacrifices, duties, and the love they shared for each other was the only thing their dysfunctional family could rely on; the only thing they could  _ trust _ . 

Of course, Castiel had become a part of that trust by now. Hell, Dean would charge him with his life any day, but was it the same as the love he would share with, let’s say, a woman? Did he  _ love _ Castiel? Or did he just want to fuck him? Or rather, did the  _ grace _ want him to fuck him?

Fuck, he couldn’t even tell the difference anymore. Thinking about that fucked up shit gave him a headache; trying to figure out the difference between what he wanted and what the grace wanted him to want… It was just confusing!

However, when stripping it down to facts, it was clear that Cas had implied that they would most likely end up having sex, sooner or later, and Dean – or rather, the grace –  _ really _ wanted them to have sex.

They  _ had _ to have sex, or at least orgasm together, or else they would die; either from human fever or angel madness, and that just wasn’t fair!

For how long would they have to keep this insane game up anyway? How many times would they have to actually, like,  _ do it? _

Because really, if Dean was to put urge into action every single time his body got all tingly around Cas, then they would most likely end up dying from starvation altogether!

And then, of course, there was the ever so recurring issue that Dean preferred not to think about. The subject that he would rather like to forget, had he been given a chance…

Gay sex.

Grinding and thrusting against a guy’s knee he could deal with, he’d live, but going all the way, full on and hard core like his sex-infused brain wanted him to?

He wasn’t really sure how it all worked in detail, even though his grace-infected libido happily provided him with some pretty good ideas, which all contained what Dean considered to be an unhealthy dose of Castiel’s ass. 

As with everything else, that thought really shouldn’t turn him on they way it did, but apparently, things didn’t work that way anymore. 

Dean had always had a thing for kinky sex. Bring whips and handcuffs, and he was game, but with another dude…? He hadn’t really ventured that far in his explorations, at least not from what he could remember. He had spent plenty of nights tangled in musky motel sheets, and he had been drunk more or less every single time, but somehow he felt as if he would have remembered it if he had ended up shoving his dick up someone else’s ass. Or the other way around, for that matter…

He shuddered, and that, right there was just another thing he couldn’t wrap his head around. If he pictured himself having sex with another guy, his gut immediately made a nauseous flip and made him feel like hurling on the spot, but as soon as he switched the random guy out with Castiel, it was like the hottest thing ever! It was slightly contradicting, to say the least. How was he supposed to interpret that? That regular gay sex was a turn off, but gay sex with Cas was not?

It was disturbing how eagerly his body reacted to the prospect, though… Just thinking about spending endless hours rolling amongst moist sheets with Castiel writhing and moaning beneath him was enough to make his dick perk up hopefully between his legs, and Dean slumped forward with a sigh.

His righteous side was having trouble trying to reconcile with the thought of screwing the angel  _ once _ . The ease with which his body was already considering doing it multiple times was just unnerving.

There was no use fighting it, he knew that by now, but maybe they could agree not to let their libidos get the better of them any more than they actually had to? Another hump or two had to be enough, right? They wouldn’t have to get naked… Not fully naked at least… Or maybe they should get naked, for the laundry’s sake…? They didn’t have to do anything; they could just… touch and stuff…

…

Alright, he  _ had _ to stop thinking about sex now, or he would have to spend the rest of his shower in cold water.

 

/\/\/\/\/\/\

 

Castiel was dressed when he got back down, something Dean’s torn mind was not sure if he liked or disapproved of. The angel had dug up an old t-shirt from the bottom of Sam’s backpack and he was literally drowning in it; the pair of washed out jeans he was also wearing only visible from the knee down beneath the red fabric. 

Dean realized with a rush of possessive heat, bordering to pride, that the angel was wearing  _ his _ jeans. He almost made a comment on how that, too, was something done between mates only, but he quickly changed his mind when he saw the way Castiel’s eyes widened at the sight of him, making him realize that he should probably find something more than just a towel to wear. Fast.

He didn’t have the energy for a second round so soon, despite what his libido was trying to convince him of, and he quickly made sure to get out of sight and get dressed. He was tired, he had not had a full night’s sleep in ages, and he just wanted to crash into bed before anything else got in the way. Apparently, his weariness showed, because when he returned to the living room, Cas had already added a proper pillow and a duvet to the sofa.

“You need sleep,” the angel stated simply when Dean stopped to stare at the beddings, and Dean chuckled, the caring gesture making him feel oddly warm on the inside. He began to reach out in order to give the other man a pat on the shoulder and say thanks, but stopped himself midway, sending an apologetic look towards the angel as he quickly withdrew his hand.

“Sorry,” he grated. “It’s just that… suddenly it seemed like a very good idea to, uh, throw you down and grind you into the couch...“ 

Castiel closed his eyes; a soft tremor sending his wings rattling with failed suppressed excitement.

“The thought occurred to me as well, actually,” he confessed quietly. “But I don’t think you have enough stamina left to stay awake for that.” 

Dean let out a tired laugh, pressing the heel of his palms into his eyes.

“Aw, man…We’re in so much trouble, aren’t we?”  

Castiel swallowed hard.

“The recuperation period is indeed much shorter than I anticipated.” He furrowed his brow and then there was a soft pressure against Dean’s skull, like a headache. It only lasted for a few seconds and then it was gone, just as quickly.

“Interesting…” Castiel mumbled.

“What?” Dean asked, suddenly worried. “Is something wrong?” 

“Your mind is silent.” The angel canted his head, face unreadable. “I can’t hear your thoughts anymore.”

“You’ll have to excuse me for not getting sentimental,” Dean quipped with an eye roll. “Nice to know that I’m not being listened in on.”

“I never intended to listen in on you,” Castiel objected.

“Yeah, yeah, I know.” Dean shot him a quick smile before he resolutely fastened his gaze upon the coffee table in front of him, clearing his throat.

“I think you better go now…” he suggested hoarsely. “Otherwise this will get messy very quickly.” 

“Agreed,” Castiel mumbled, nodding once before he stalked out of the room with hurried steps, dark feathers already puffing up along the ridge of his wings.

“And lock the door!” Dean called out after him, ignoring the way his body ached when he heard the metallic scraping of a key turning in response.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading guys <3  
> Hope to see you all back next Thursday :)


	8. 8

Castiel leaned back heavily against the door while trying to still his viciously beating heart. The key was clutched so tightly in his grasp that the metal left deep marks into the palm of his hand, knuckles white around the metal.

He could feel the lingering heat of Dean’s eyes on his neck, and he reached up and rubbed the skin there harshly, hands clammy from a kind of sweat that still felt too foreign to his skin. His pulse was racing, pumping blood through his body with such vigor he could hear it swirl inside his veins, and below his waist an already aching erection was straining against the material of his tattered jeans.

For a few swooning seconds he thought he was going to faint, but somehow he managed to push himself off the door and remain standing long enough to stumble towards the unmade bed. He collapsed onto the mattress, turning to lie on his back amongst tangled sheets with a groan, flattening his wings with a deft rustle of feathers in order not to pinch them underneath the weight of his body, closing his eyes.

His comment on the recuperation time being short had obviously been an understatement. Right now he felt as if he was going to combust into flames at any moment, his oversized clothes still being too tight, the room too small, and his blood too feverishly hot.

Being contained within a human body had always been restricting, but during these past few days his vessel had gone from being a mere inconvenience to a downright curse. His own personal prison of heated flesh and sizzling urges, complete with Dean Winchester as his oblivious jailer… Or, at least he had been oblivious, up until last night.

Castiel knew that keeping himself close to the oldest Winchester was more of a masochistic behaviour on his part than anything else. It was a habit that had gotten in the way of his objective position as a guardian and soldier, but the Righteous Man wielded a power over him that Castiel simply could not deny, even less keep away from.

Being in the same room as Dean provided him with equally as much bliss as it did pain, but it was a pain he had never wanted to be without. Not even last night, when Dean had been made aware of the feelings he harbored for him. The mortification had threatened to consume him, to render him nothing but a tainted presence in Dean’s life, before Dean himself had taken that final leap less than an hour ago and sent him hurling into a brand new plane of existence. A maddening, pulsating dimension where everything was breath, and skin, and touch, and _Dean_. The memory of the other’s hands on his wings, that soft tongue sliding against his own…

He shuddered violently and his hand shot down to clasp around his thigh, trying to quench the pleasurable spasm wrecking through his limbs.

Dean had touched him; the thought alone was almost enough to make him feel delirious. Dean’s fingers roaming his body…

_Spread out your wings for me…_

“Dean…” He whispered the name and his wings flared out eagerly against the mattress in response. “Dean…”

He remembered the feeling of Dean’s arousal rubbing against his own through harsh layers of clothing. Remembered the pooling heat that had coiled in his stomach and then coated the inside of his pants in a climax that had felt so raw it could easily have torn him to pieces.

Castiel opened his eyes and peered down the length of his body, halting at the denim clad bulge that stood proudly in his way. He licked his lips, staring at the phenomenon as if he was really seeing it for the first time, and perhaps he was.

He had experienced erections several times since he obtained control of Jimmy Novak’s body, and it had been confusing at first, but not intriguing in any other way. Of course he had understood the why’s and how’s of the reaction, that was not what had surprised him. The surprise had come because these physical responses seemed to be obsessively connected with Dean Winchester, which of course had seemed absolutely ridiculous at the time. He was an angel; a warrior and messenger of Heaven and the Host itself. He did not _want_ . He had no conception of _desires_ or _lust_ , no matter whom the emotions were aimed at.

Only, he had, as he was soon to discover, and once again it all came circling back to Dean.

Dean Winchester. The man whose soul shone so bright, that even in the vast pits of Hell it had flared like a beacon of pure light in the darkness. Dean Winchester, whose caring, loving heart so often got contradicted by the sarcastic words that left the man’s mouth. The touch of his hand; so strong, so safe.

Castiel had fallen in love with him before he had even gotten around to understand the concept. Love… It was an emotion he shouldn’t even be capable of feeling, let alone want, yet it wouldn’t leave him alone.

Had it not been for the grace stirring up inside his vessel, he would probably have been able to live with it, but things hadn’t turned out that way. Before, he would have been able to disregard the physical reactions of his body as inconvenient side effects due to the fusion between his human body and his angelic self.

Naturally, it was different now. _Now_ , as he lay there in the bed, he knew exactly what the reaction meant and what was causing it. Not only because of the Grace calling out to him from inside the human form on the other side of the fragile bedroom wall, but also because he had come to realize to what extent Dean had actually come to mean to him.

The effect Dean’s presence had on his physical form was one thing, but the effect his touch had on his celestial manifestation as well… that was another thing entirely. The feel of Dean’s hands on his wings; it had felt _right_ , as if Dean’s physical touch was equal to any other angelic grace in the whole of Heaven. The warmth of his soul, the care and concern Dean had felt for him out there in the kitchen, it had bled through the touch of his skin, seeping into Castiel’s very core.

Dean… Not Dean the Righteous Man that he had been ordered to protect, but Dean, the human Castiel had come to love. Dean, whose hands had brought him such pleasures, who had held him close and caressed him not like a friend, but a beloved, as if Castiel had been something precious…

He licked his lips again, his hand twitching against his leg before slowly sliding upwards. His fingertips reached out to rub tentatively against the bulge hidden underneath the ragged texture of his clothes, causing his breath to hitch as the same electricity from before sparked through him at the touch. He palmed down the front of his trousers in a single, harsh motion, his eyes fluttering close while a moan wrenched itself from his throat.

Castiel had never touched himself before. Not because it was a sin of any kind, not because he hadn’t had the time, but because he simply hadn’t been able to comprehend why he _should_. Of course he knew how it was done—he wasn’t stupid—but he had never experienced orgasm first hand before tonight.

He had never understood the connection between a hardened muscle and the phenomenon that so many humans referred to as ‘heavenly’, because really, what concept did a human have of Heaven? Tonight Dean had showed him just how wrong he had been, what he had been missing out on. It had proven to be far too much, for far too long, and like this, afterwards while on his own, also over far too soon.

His other hand was already fumbling with his belt and zipper, grabbing hold of the hem of his jeans to pull them and boxers off as he canted his hips up. When the cool air hit his naked skin, he let out an involuntary hiss. Even though the room had felt abundantly warm just a few seconds ago, the heat of his flesh now rendered it chilly in comparison.

He licked his lips and cracked his eyes open, looking down at the erect member protruding from his groin, and his wings quivered silently in anticipation. It was bigger than he had imagined it would be. Obviously, he knew that the male organ grew in size from arousal, but nonetheless, he had not expected such a dramatic change.

Gripping the base of his erection gingerly, he stroked the skin with trembling fingers, forcing himself to keep his breathing steady. Slowly, he moved his hand up and down the length, fingers sliding delicately over velvety skin, feeling a thin layer of sweat forming on his brow as he did so.

He pushed his hips into the touch, pressing his back into the mattress. His left wing strained to flip beneath him in response, without succeeding, bending his feathers the wrong way. It was uncomfortable, having his wings pinned beneath the weight of his body, and he reluctantly released the grip around his cock to sit up higher on the bed.

Tugging the t-shirt over his head, he settled down against the headboard, propping one of the large pillows behind his neck as a second thought to allow for more space between his back and the headboard.

Out there in the kitchen, keeping his wings from moving had been hard, like balancing on the edge of a cliff he so desperately wanted to jump off from. He had not wanted to accidentally hurt Dean by knocking him over, so he had endured it; perhaps even finding the voluntary restraint to be surprisingly exciting…

Distantly, he wondered what it would have felt like if Dean had grabbed hold of his wings and pushed them back against the counter out there, trapping them while they—  

Once more, the wings behind his back trembled, spreading wide and angling them up to show off the exquisite pattern of smaller feathers on the inside. There was more room for the limbs to move this time, and his breath hitched when the subconscious desire to expose himself for mating kicked into gear.

As a human, Dean had no possible way of knowing about the rituals involved for angel mating, which, in contrary to the name, had nothing to do with physical touches or orgasms like it had for humans. It was a spiritual act, two graces reaching out to touch and blend, to allow proximity to one's very essence, and even though Dean had no grace, Cas had to admit that the purity of his soul had managed to come surprisingly close.

Castiel had felt that blinding light reach out and move against his grace like fire, but even though every single part of him had yearned for it, Castiel had not reciprocated the touch. Even though there would be an obvious lack of secondary grace, the mating would be no less permanent.

It wouldn’t change much for Dean, of course. He was not an angel and would perhaps only be able to perceive a minor part of the effects, but Cas would be inevitably tied to Dean’s soul for the remains of his existence. He wanted nothing else; he would endure an eternity in Hell itself without a seconds delay for that single bliss, but the decision was not his alone to make.

He wondered, though, what it would have felt like. Having Dean’s soul mix with his, to reach out and curl his grace around him and hold, give, _love_ ; knowing that he was allowed to… He shuddered, and the feathers behind him rustled as his entire body twitched with a jolt of excitement. Oh, yes, Dean… _Dean_ …

When he gripped himself for the second time, it was with increased confidence. The strokes that followed moved faster, dragging the foreskin further down the shaft and putting tension to the frenulum beneath the head. He watched in fascination through half lidded eyes as he pulled the pleasure out of his skin, biting down on his lower lip when he found that a minimal twist of his wrist on the upstroke spiked the sensation even higher.

His mind was drifting off again, imagining that the free hand that moved over his torso wasn’t his own, and that the soft glide of feathers along the upper part of his thighs came from another, warmer body hovering above his. He could see green eyes looking down at him as a pair of full lips curled into a lewd grin, placing fluttering kisses all over his body…

_Dean…_

 

/\/\/\/\/\/\

 

Dean was out like a light the moment his head hit the pillow.

His body was exhausted, greeting sleep like a long lost friend, and he sank into the velvety darkness with a grateful sigh, welcoming it with open arms. It was a dreamless sleep, at first, but it didn’t take long before the darkness around him started shifting, slowly taking on shapes and colors that morphed in and out of focus. Sometimes near and sometimes seemingly miles away in the horizon-less distance.

It was like watching oil swirl, if oil had been air; tranquil and soothing in its silence, and Dean felt peace settle around him like a big, fluffy blanket as he watched it move. This was a good place, a _safe_ place, and perhaps that was the reason why he didn’t flinch or startle when somewhere from the dark, he heard someone breathe out his name.

The voice was familiar, the sound of it as comforting as a friendly hand to the shoulder. He knew that voice, but even though he raked his head in search for its owner, he came out blank. It didn’t bother him, though. The voice made him feel safe and warm, protected and loved. Inside his chest, there was a sudden ache to meet the person who was calling him, as if his heart would curl into itself and disappear into a void if he was denied it for a second longer.

_Dean…_

A shudder travelled through him at the sound. Such a needy, desperate sound.

_Dean…_

There was a ghost of a breath rushing over his skin and when he looked down, he discovered that he was naked. Yet, instead of embarrassment and shame over this new state of appearance, he felt anticipation coil in the pit of his stomach. This was a good. This was how it was supposed to be.

He watched as the dark around him began swirling and shifting, a soft glow scattering the shadows as it moved towards him. It stretched out in winding patterns that wound themselves across the oil colored floor like the roots of an enormous tree come to life.

He looked at it calmly, regarding it with a sort of numb fascination as the silver white mist moved closer to slide against him tenderly, almost lovingly. The touch of it made him gasp out loudly in surprise, both cold and warmth pulsing against his skin all at the same time, sending a delightful shiver coursing through his limbs. The light curled its tendrils gently around both his legs and then proceeded to snake its way up to his hips, hugging his chest snuggly until his entire body was wrapped within the glowing embrace.

He knew that normally this should have him frightened, or at least concerned, but for some reason it didn’t. This was right, just like the fact that he was naked was right. This thing, whatever it was, was safe and not out to harm him. This was _good_ , like the way his body responded to the sensation of being caught like this by quickening his pulse and sending blood to his lower regions was good. Like the fact that his dick was already standing tall against his abdomen, begging to be touched, was undoubtedly _good_.

He leaned his head back and closed his eyes, sighing when what could have been fingertips caressed his jawline before continuing to move down his neck and collarbones. It felt nice, and he moaned quietly at the sensation, shuddering when it travelled down his ribs to settle on his hipbone, kneading the skin there with comforting reassurance.

When he felt invisible hands grip his around his cock, his eyes rolled back into his head. He gave an appreciative moan, fisting his hands in the light that wrapped across his chest, only to find it firm and solid beneath his fingers.

The stroking started out delicate, slow and almost curious. The touch moved over him, soft and smooth despite using no other lubrication than the precome already pearling at the tip of his member. He tried to move his legs, to spread them out to gain some leverage to thrust up into the touch, but they didn’t budge. He was trapped like this, splayed out in the mercy of the force encircling him, and to his surprise, the realization sent a spark of ecstasy flaring inside his gut.

_Dean…!_

The voice whispered the name against his skin and his cock twitched eagerly in response, forcing Dean to bite his lip in order not to whimper. He knew he shouldn’t be enjoying it, that being held captive by some mystic light in an unknown place was something that should be freaking him out, but at the same time he could only come up with reasons to why it was so _right_.

He tilted his head and spontaneously pressed his lips against the mist that curved against the side of his face, letting out a startled yelp when the light flared up like a bonfire around him in return. It pierced him with a heat that made his head sear with pleasure, locking his entire body up in near orgasm, but without that final edge that would grant him release.

He had no idea what it was, had absolutely no clue, but when the light had faded and gone back to the low, pulsating glow from before, he already had his tongue out, licking a long, wet stripe over the glistening apparition, and _sweet mother of mercy…!_

 

/\/\/\/\/\/\

 

Castiel was panting hard, pressing his head back into the pillows while his fist pumped his dick in quick, hurried strokes. Sweat was glistening on his skin and his free hand was alternating between raking rough nails over his chest to cupping his sack with wary fingers. He could feel the same pleasure from before pool in his gut, but he wasn’t there yet; the edge he was chasing was constantly keeping itself out of his reach.

It was harder than he had expected. Without Dean present, it was as if he was being held back by something, and the strain was slowly driving him mad. He twisted his head, moaning quietly into the fabric of the pillow while his hair clung to his forehead in sweat slicked strands. His wings quivered, stretching out and pulling back in euphotic convulsions, filling the room with the dry sound of moving silk.

Dean’s name kept rolling off his tongue like a litany, the syllable sending sparks of heat throughout his body like a drug, pushing him close to unabashed delirium. He could imagine the other’s body move against his; feeling the slow writhing of their limbs as his brain kept painting him vivid pictures of the visions that had been roaming the insides of Dean’s mind during the past week.

He could see it clearly. Green eyes, glazed over, full lips parting in a breathless moan as their arousals slid against one another’s, rutting frantically like they had against the counter in Bobby’s kitchen. The mere memory of Dean’s breath against his skin made his jaw go slack with ecstasy. Dean.. Oh, Dean…!

“Dean…!” he choked on the name and seconds later his entire body arched up from the bed. Sweet fire coursed through his veins, filling his head with light as it made him cry out in both surprise and feverish pleasure.

The sensation quickly pulled away and he fell back against the pillows, sliding down to lay flat on his back once more while panting harshly. Just as he was convinced that what he had felt was his anticipated orgasm, the mysterious feeling returned, and with such a force that it had him thrashing helplessly from side to side in blindsided euphoria on the bed, rendering him mute.

When he came down again, he was struggling desperately to suck air back into his lungs in between panicked gasps, but he did not get much time before a third wave hit him, followed by a fourth, a fifth, and then again, and again, and _again_.

Both his hands clawed at the sheets by his sides, nails digging into thin fabric and twisting it hard. It felt as if something was stroking and caressing every inch of his naked skin with such delicate precision it made him ache all over, and it didn’t stop, didn’t even falter as his body blindly twisted to the side. It was amazing, and it felt so, so good, but it wasn’t enough, not even near enough…

“Please…!” he choked, struggling to regain control of his voice between the shocks, fighting to be heard by something, anything. The blows kept on coming, kept crashing down on top of him like a flood, and he was babbling inconsistencies, head tossing, wings locked in seizure beyond the point of shaking. His whole existence appeared caught in the insane loop of pleasure that was slowly killing him from the inside out, and it still wasn’t _enough!_

“Please… Oh, please, oh, please, oh, please, oh, _please…!_ ”

He was so close he could taste it in the back of his throat. Every nerve in his body sang when wave after wave rolled over him, making his hips thrust helplessly against nothing but air. He wasn’t even aware of what he was saying anymore; sobs and broken moans cascading off his tongue in between whimpered gasps. He was close, oh, so close, and he just wanted to throw himself over the edge, longing for the feel the fire washing over him, and oh, sweet heavens, he was _burning…!_

 

/\/\/\/\/\/\

 

Dean was raking his hands through every winding stream of light that he could reach, not caring that the blaze his actions provoked was slowly tearing him apart with a bliss that was bordering to pain. It felt too damn good for him to stop, and he didn’t want to either.

His lips pressed open mouthed, sloppy kisses into the swirling mist, daringly sucking pieces of the entity into his mouth as he let his tongue lick around it in large, wet swipes before releasing it once more. He had no idea how he could possibly know, but he _knew_ that what he was doing felt good to this mysterious whatever-it-was.

Every intoxicating drag over his cock got rewarded with another kiss, lick or caress, until he was no longer able to open his eyes due to the lights flaring around him. His breath was ragged and raw in his throat, loud moans ripping from his lungs without any restraints what so ever, and he could tell that he wouldn’t last much longer. He refused to let go, not yet. There was something he needed first; something he had to know.

“Hey…” he breathed, tossing his head back when the light raked across his nipples, sending scorching electricity through his system. “Ah! W—wait…! Who are you?” His hands grasped around the ray winding down between his legs in an attempt to still the motion over his cock, but to no avail.

“Tell me…” he panted. “I want to kno—oh!”

His nails dug harshly into the light and he could feel the end approach in a heartbreaking speed. He couldn’t stop, there was no way that he’d be able to hold this off.

“Tell me…!”  he whimpered, fingers twitching in his struggle to keep the orgasm at bay for just a little while longer. “Please…!”

_Please…!_

Dean’s eyes flashed open and his heart skipped a thousand beats in his chest, because all of a sudden he could _hear_ it.

_Oh, please… Oh, please, oh, please, oh, please, oh,_ please…!

“Cas…?”

_Dean, please!_

Dean’s head fell back with a groan and both his hands came up to fist themselves in the mist around his chest.

Cas. Of course it was Cas, how could he have missed it? Of course it was Cas…

He moaned, hips stuttering. It felt so good, and he couldn’t— No, he didn’t even want to stop, freaky angel magic be damned.

“Cas…” He moaned, fingers digging in harder, and he found himself wishing that the angel could feel it. “Oh, fuck, Cas, I’m gonna come... I’m coming, Cas, I’m—C—Cas..!”

His toes curled, body spasming violently in its restrains as his release stained the ground at his feet in thick, heavy spurts. He could feel the light around him surge and flare, pulsating, shuddering, and he knew what was about to happen. Without thinking, he turned his head to the side and pressed his lips greedily against the radiating light, flattening his tongue against it without caring how the spiking sensation almost made his face go numb. A victorious thrill punched the air out of his chest at the effect it had, when scorching whiteness instantly flared on the other side of his closed eyelids at the touch.

_Come for me…_ He sent the breathless thought into the blinding whiteness, biting down possessively around the tendril in his mouth with his teeth.

_C’mon Cas, you righteous bastard, give it to me…!_

 

/\/\/\/\/\/\

 

The sheets ripped in his fists as Castiel came, his body feeling as if it was about to curl into itself in pleasure. Instead, it arched high, dark wings spreading wide in shock while semen splattered across his stomach and chest, some of it dripping down in thick droplets on the black feathers below.

His mouth hung open in an ear-shattering scream, but no sound came out except for a strangled whimper. When his body went limp and fell back down against the mattress, he didn’t even have the strength to fight the violent throws his body made in the aftershocks. His head was numbed, his eyes unseeing, and he was sure that his heart was going to come shooting out of his ribcage at any second, because oh… Just _oh!_

A distant sound reached his ears; a low, wheezing noise that somehow seemed to be connected with the pulse pounding in his head. It took him a few moments to realize that the sound was coming from _him_.

His breath dragged up and down his throat in raspy groans, his body too strung out to even move. Even his wings were draped, limp and incapacitated, over the sides of the bed like black sheets, wrecked by occasional twitches and shudders while the only thing his mushed brain could process was the euphoric “oh” that kept repeating itself over and over inside his head.

That— _That_ could _not_ have been normal!

He tried to push himself up into a sitting position, but his limbs wouldn’t obey him, so instead of swinging his legs over the edge of the bed and stand, he simply slid down to the floor in a boneless heap. He clung to the bedside table, struggling to keep himself from collapsing when his head began to whirl, still mouthing the same weak ‘oh’.

Then suddenly, there was a light tap on the door and the angel’s entire body jerked back into attention.

“Cas?”

“Dean?” Castiel’s voice cracked slightly, but if it was because of surprise or embarrassment he couldn’t tell.

“You alright in there?” Dean’s voice sounded hoarse and tired. Had Castiel’s moans woken him up?

“Yes…” He swallowed hard, trying to moisture his dry throat, but without succeeding. ”Why do you ask?”

“Well, I… uh… I was sort of… dreaming?”

Castiel’s brow furrowed. Was it just him or did Dean sound a little out of breath?

“Oh…” his eyes widened and he clasped around the wood of the bedside table even harder. “ _Oh…_ ”

“Yeah…” Castiel swore he could hear the Winchester’s awkward neck scratching through the door. ”You could say that.”

He scrambled to his feet, legs almost buckling underneath him as he looked around for something to clean himself up with. After a quick wipe off using his previously discarded shirt, he pulled his trousers back up and buttoned them before unlocking the door, coming face to face with Dean, who was leaning against the wall outside.

Cas opened his mouth to say something, to perhaps by some miracle come up with a single word that would be able to express his abashment, guilt and remorse at the same time before Dean decided to lash out at him, but when he saw the hunter’s face, every thought of apologizing got blown out of his mind.

“Why are you laughing?” he scowled, perhaps sounding a bit more snappish than he had intended to. Because Dean was _smiling_ at him. A big, smug grin that Castiel had not been expecting, and for some reason the sight of it made him want to slam the door back in the other’s face before he got the chance to say anything.

“Dude...” Dean quirked an eyebrow at him. “Were you jerking off in there?”

Castiel felt his cheeks heat up against his will, but he couldn’t stop it, his usual angelic discipline suddenly uncharacteristically unwilling to help. It was ridiculous—after all the things they had gone through within the past twenty four hours, doing something this common in their current situation was hardly anything he should feel embarrassed about! Dean, however, seemed to be of a different opinion.

“Holy shit, you were.” Dean’s head fell back and he laughed loudly, not taking any heed to the angel’s flustered state.

“I take it you find that amusing.” Castiel didn’t want to sound sullen, but he knew he did, blushing like a schoolgirl where he stood, half naked in the doorway with wings still partially puffed up from fading arousal and growing indignation.

“Are you kidding me? You’re an _angel!_ ” Dean snickered. “You’re supposed to be all _holy,_ and _chaste,_ and all that other hands-above-the-covers kinda stuff.” He made a weak gesture to the angel’s body and then he laughed again, lacking words.

“You still hold that perception of me, even after what transpired in the kitchen earlier?” Castiel retorted dryly without thinking, and for a horrified moment he expected the smile to fall from Dean’s face, like it always did when the subject of _them_ surfaced. It never happened. Instead, Dean simply looked at him, as if he knew a secret that the angel didn’t, and then slowly he brought a hand up to smooth it up the length of Castiel’s naked chest.

Castiel’s breath hitched, and he found that keeping his eyelids from fluttering shut and instead locking his gaze onto Dean’s was probably one of the hardest things he had done in eons. Dean was still smiling, although it wasn’t mocking anymore. It was soft, warm. It made Cas’s toes tingle.

“I’ve taken advantage of you two times in less than two hours…” Dean mumbled. “I guess I should tell you how sorry I am about that, but… truth is, I’m not sorry… Not really.”

Fingertips slid gently over his torso, tracing tiny, intricate circles over the skin, and Cas shivered despite his best efforts to keep still. Dean’s eyes flickered to his face and then went back to study the way the tip of his fingers left small goose bumps in their wake all over the other’s flesh.

“Normally I would be,” he confessed. “But since not even locked doors can keep this from happening… then what’s the point of being sorry?”

“Dean,” Castiel had to clench his teeth in order not to have the name come out as a moan. “I didn’t know that you were affected by—”

“I know,” Dean cut him off. Green eyes gleamed at him, broad shoulders rising and falling in a shrug. ”And I couldn’t stop myself either, it just… happened. Like it always does when I—”  

The weight of Dean’s hand disappeared from Castiel’s chest with a groan and Cas almost found himself falling forward in its absence, not realizing how much he had been leaning in to the touch to begin with.

“The things you make me wanna do…”

Castiel snapped his head up at the sudden shiver in Dean’s voice, and he almost winced in spite of himself. The smile was gone from Dean’s lips and the gleam that Castiel had thought of as mirthful was even more prominent now, looking horrifyingly much like something else. He didn’t get a long look of the hunter’s face, because Dean turned it away the next second, sighing heavily.

“I don’t know what’s happening to me, Cas.” The words were low and throaty. “I don’t even know which part of this is me anymore.”

“What do you mean?” Castiel kept his voice low, holding it steady.

Something was wrong; the situation was growing increasingly confusing, and Dean’s mood was changing far too quickly for this to be just nerves. Gingerly, he extended the reach of his mind to brush it against Dean’s own, and was met with a stirring wall of panic, doubt, and fear that almost had him staggering backwards. So much _fear_ …

His entire body itched to reach out and place a comforting hand against the human’s shoulder, to quench the inferno that was burning black streaks through Dean’s consciousness, but he wasn’t sure how such an act would be received. Instead, he left both his hands hanging, loose and aimless by his sides with uselessly clenched fists.

“I never meant to cause you any harm,” he said, choosing his words with great caution, carefully treading this new, unfamiliar territory.

The snap of harsh words he expected in return never came, because instead Dean laughed at him once more, only this time it was a dry laugh, filled to the brim with self loathing and threateningly balancing on the tip of hysteria.

The hunter’s shoulders were tense, posture hostile, and Castiel found himself unconsciously bracing his body for a fight. Dean shook his head, hands fisting by his sides, and he felt so _wrong_ that Cas could barely stand the sight of him.

“That’s the thing,” Dean chuckled, his voice cracking. “You haven’t.”

One of the hands uncurled and came up to rub at Dean’s neck harshly, as if trying to work out a strained muscle.

“For the first time in ages I think that I’m actually feeling good. _Happy,_ even.”

Castiel looked at him in silence, feeling his stomach knot and twist inside his body in a notion that was far more human than anything he had ever felt before when Dean still refused to meet his gaze.

_If you are happy, then how come you look nothing like it…?_

Dean pushed off the wall, moving forwards. Castiel allowed him to shove his way past him, through the doorway and into the guest room. A sharp pang of humiliation sizzled through his chest when Dean then bent over and picked up the soiled shirt from the floor, analysing it with eyes Castiel couldn’t see.

“Damn it, Cas…” The sound of choked back tears reverberated through the silent room, cutting into him like a knife. “What the hell are you doing to me…?”

“Dean,” he soothed, taking a step forward, his hand finally reaching up in comfort. “I told you before, it’s just my grace—”

“No, it’s _not!_ ”

Dean hurled the stained garment against the opposite wall with a snarl and turned around, swatting the angel’s hand away so hard it made Castiel stumble. His eyes were glazed with tears and they were staring into Castiel’s with such aggravated fury it made Castiel’s heart skip.

“For fuck’s sake, don’t you _get it!?_ ” 

Castiel intended to nod, he really did, but instead he felt his head move from left to right, slowly back and forth in the same confusion he knew was evident on his face.

And just like that Dean was right there, chest pushing against his, and Castiel didn’t even have time to think before chapped lips pressed against his mouth, harsh and desperate. Both of Dean’s hands came up to grasp hard around his biceps, holding him in place, and Castiel could feel nails dig into the muscles of his arms, leaving tiny crescent moons pressed into the skin.

The kiss didn’t last long, but when Dean pulled away it left Castiel’s breath ragged and his knees wobbly. Dean pressed his forehead against his, the right hand releasing the grip on Castiel’s naked arm to fold over the back of his neck instead.

“You have the power and knowledge of the entire freaking universe stuck inside that thick skull of yours, but _this_ you can’t figure out?” he hissed through clenched teeth, a frustration and helplessness that could have thrown even a demon off track pouring into his voice.

“You are not making things very clear…” Castiel admitted quietly.

“Shut up,” Dean hissed. Then he was kissing him again.

It wasn’t as hard this time—something Castiel’s bruised lips were very thankful for—and he complied to the hunter’s silent request, kissing back obediently. He allowed Dean’s teeth to nip at his lower lip, and for his tongue to slip into his mouth in eager thrusts, but he could sense that something wasn’t right.

There was an odd tension in Dean’s muscles, and the grip of his fingers was hard and forceful, as if he thought that Castiel was going to run away if he let him go. It was an uneasy feeling, a mix between the euphoria of having Dean kissing him and the confusion of why he was doing so, and suddenly Castiel wished that the barrier that separated Dean’s thoughts from his hadn’t been resurrected quite so soon.

A particularly sharp nip from Dean’s mouth made him gasp and bring his attention back to what was happening. When Dean pulled back for air, Castiel resolutely brought his hands up to push against his chest, holding him still.

“You are acting very strange,” he pointed out, eyes falling to the ground. He could not bear the sight of Dean’s face right now; didn’t want to see the pain he knew he would find there. He could feel the chest beneath his hands rumble when Dean let out a dark chuckle.

“Define strange,” he joked.

“Something’s bothering you.”

“It’s nothing.” Dean tried to lean in again, but Castiel moved away, sending Dean’s feet a reprimanding glare.

“I want to know, Dean.”

“Well, I’m not sharing.” Dean dove in for a second try, but this time Castiel stepped back completely, breaking the physical contact; something that had Dean rolling his eyes to the ceiling in aggravation.

“Damn it, Cas! Can’t we just _do this_ already?!”

Castiel looked up at the outburst, narrowing his eyes at him, taking in the aggression, frustration, and panic still skirting the edges of green eyes. Gingerly, he reached out with his mind, feeling the familiar walls of Dean’s psyche rise up to meet him in an attempt to keep him out.

Something was festering on the other side of that wall. A dark mass of pulsating hatred and fear, and Castiel wanted it gone. He hesitated, an uneasy feeling rising up inside his chest.

“Dean, let me in.”

“No,” Dean growled.

“Why not?”

“Because I said no.”

Castiel swallowed. He had no right, he knew that. It was invasion of privacy, and that was something that he would never be able to undo for as long as he would live. Dean would hate him for it, would never forgive him, but Castiel could _feel it_ all the way from where he stood. How it tore, and burned, and clawed at the inside of Dean’s head, and he couldn’t stand it.

“You said that we were in this together,” he said quietly. “You helped me, now please, let me help you.”

“I don’t want your help,” Dean spat, but there was a pulse on the other side of the wall inside his head, a flash of light that begged for the exact opposite.

It was that light that Castiel locked on to. The bright, golden light of Dean’s soul, the one he knew so well. Searching it out, he slipped through the cracks and crevasses in Dean’s defences, chasing after the warmth to wrap his grace around it.

He could feel Dean’s furious glare on him when the hunter tried to shove him back out, his psyche thrashing and bucking to make him loosen his grip, but Castiel tightened it in response, feeling the light flicker encouragement at him in response.

“Get the fuck out of my head, Cas!”

Castiel ignored him. That wasn’t Dean talking, not really. It was the hate. The fear. He held the real Dean in his grasp and he could feel him pulse against his very being, but as he pushed on; going further, deeper, coming closer to that inky black mass at the centre, the harder it got to keep his hold.

The thoughts that had always been so warm inside Dean’s head had suddenly turned cold and hard around him, safe for the burning core resting in his palm. It was painful, like being coated in black ice, but then it was all over as the light of Dean’s mind opened up before him, bright and uncovered. His eyes blew wide, his jaw went slack, and his breath caught in his throat.

“I said _get out!_ ”

Hands shoved against his chest so hard they knocked the air out of him, making him stumble back and hit the wall by the door with a loud clatter from the picture frames hanging above him. The impact snapped him back into his own mind so quickly his head lolled back from the sheer force of it.

“Son of a bitch!” Dean yelled, hands shooting up to clutch around his own head, teeth bearing in a snarl from the sudden pain that followed Castiel’s abrupt departure.

Castiel stared at him, dumbstruck, grappling for a solid place, somewhere firm to ground himself as his own thoughts caught up with that he had just witnessed. He could barely find the words. It had been like pushing through to the centre of an emotional tornado, but there, in the eye of the storm it had been so _quiet_ and Castiel had _seen_ …

Dean’s head had been screaming at him. Not like it had when the grace was fighting for a way out, feeding him with lust and desires, no, this had been different, so very, very different… He understood now, finally, and it was like seeing the first glimpse of the horizon as the mist scattered before the morning sun.

Dean’s sexual orientation had never been questioned, not even by himself. The times he had found himself straying a bit too far from what would be considered normal thoughts about other men, he had efficiently brushed it off with a few more drinks and carnal indulgences with whatever female company he preferred at the moment.

Castiel’s Grace had shoved Dean head first into a world of homoerotic actions that Dean so far had refused to even consider lingering on, even in his own head. He had clung to reason as if it were a life raft, telling himself that it would all go away soon, that he could wait it out, that none of it was real, that none of it was _him_.

Then it had begun. That first reluctant compromise that now had led them to this point, where Dean was suddenly experiencing urges and cravings he had never before realized he had. Because they were not just a product of the grace running wild in his body, even though he had tried so hard to convince himself otherwise ever since that night at the motel, and Castiel could see it now, he could _understand_.

Those feelings had always been there, safely tucked away deep inside excuses and denial, and of course Dean’s own definition of straight and gay. Cornered between the cracked and battered wall that was his father’s military discipline and the crowd of social acceptance. Dean didn’t care about what people thought of him, he never had, but there were other opinions he considered to be even more valuable than his own. Like his brother’s. Like Bobby’s.

Like Castiel’s.

And Dean knew this; he knew and had known for quite some time, deep, deep down, but refused to admit it in fear of all the possible things it would come to mean. The things it would _change,_ not just for him, but for the important people in his life. Dean _wanted_ Castiel; wanted him so much his heart ached… and it scared him senseless.

The dream Castiel’s grace had provoked had left Dean in shock, stunned and confused by the way his subconscious had not only accepted Castiel’s unknowing advances, but how it had _embraced_ them. Eager and hungry, like he had been starving for the angel’s spiritual touch for decades.

Detached from his physical body, the decision to reciprocate to Castiel’s touch had indisputably been Dean’s own, and Dean knew it; had realized it the moment he had woken up with Castiel’s own climax clawing a second orgasm from his body.

Dean’s emotions were in turmoil, howling in unison like a pack of wolves, all eager to be fed. It was, in Castiel’s humble opinion, a mere wonder that the man was still standing upright.

Castiel watched, still wide eyed, as Dean buried his face in his hands and groaned silently, almost like the wince of a wounded animal.

“Why did you have to do that…” he murmured into his palms. “Why did you…? Damn it, Cas!”

Castiel didn’t have an answer. Not one easily explained, anyway. He could have tried to describe it; how Dean had actually asked him to what he had just done, but he knew that it wouldn’t make a difference. Instead he just stood there, watching Dean shed invisible tears of anger and humiliation, hidden behind the safety of calloused hands. Allowing him this refuge, this fragile mask, for as long as Dean desired it.

Dean’s shoulders were rigid and defensive, body shaking and shivering as if wrecked by cold or fever. The hunter was out of his protective shell, his defences slowly falling apart, and there was nothing Castiel could do to ease the pain he knew the other must feel at this moment, having been there himself less than two days ago.

All he had were words, and he was well aware of how lacking in conviction they were compared to the words of Sam or Bobby. He knew that they were nothing like the voices of his own brothers who had once rendered entire nations pliant and willing at the feet of God with a single uttered word. He knew that there was absolutely nothing he could say to make this better.

It didn’t stop him from trying though.

“I’ve told you before…” He shifted closer, slowly pushing off the wall and taking a step towards the other man. “The boundaries between sexes are man-made. It’s a concept woven by human hands that does not hold any other purpose, but to oppress that which the world has chosen to be abnormal. Whatever mortification you are experiencing at this is only a human—”

“Well, in case you haven’t noticed, I _am_ human,” Dean spat, interrupting the angel’s attempt of comfort. Castiel closed his eyes, straining to keep his own emotions under control when the onslaught of Dean’s rage washed over him in thick waves. Their mental bond had been broken, but that didn’t mean that they weren’t still affected by each other’s emotions, and right now Dean’s temper was doing its best to stir up some sort of aggression within Castiel’s own consciousness. Castiel knew why.

Fighting had always been Dean’s way of venting, to let it all out, and now his subconscious was trying to provide him with such an outlet by going after Castiel, but Cas had no intentions of letting it succeed. He took a deep breath, pushing the boiling red sensation away with a firm hand, and concentrated on looking Dean straight in the eye as he spoke.

“I have noticed,” he answered slowly. “But it doesn’t change the facts.”

“What facts?” Dean snarled. “The _fact_ that your grace is running amok inside my head? Screwing with my thoughts?” He threw his hand out, gesturing up and down Castiel’s still half naked frame.

“I’m not supposed to be attracted to _you!_ ” he snapped. “I’m supposed to like blondes with long hair, big tits and mini skirts! God, I can’t even watch _porn_ anymore!”

Castiel’s blinked, but then his head tilted slowly to the side when another realization took form inside his head.

“You think that indulging in coitus with me will remove the grace from your system, thusly giving you your attraction to females back,” he concluded dryly. Dean gaped back at him.

“Well, I— It’s not like I—” Dean’s spluttered objections didn’t need further explanation.

Castiel sighed. The truth behind why Dean had been so eager to kiss him before hurt, but he couldn’t allow himself to linger on that now.

“My grace will continue to beckon for you until I am healed,” he explained calmly. “And I am sorry to tell you that the uncertainty you’re having about your sexual orientation has nothing to do with how much grace I have.”

“How the hell can you be so sure?” Dean snorted. Castiel answered him with a look so blunt it made Dean pinch his lips tight. Cas had been inside his head, of course he could be sure.

“You are not behaving like this because you’re unwilling to have sex with me,” Castiel said firmly, continuing before Dean had a chance to interrupt him; “You’re behaving like this because it’s more intimate than that, and it scares you.”

“What the fuck does that even mean, ‘intimate’?” Dean condescended. “You do a hit and run in my head and all of a sudden you know all there is to know about me?”

“I _do_ know you, Dean,” Castiel answered with a glare. “And you know perfectly well that sex for you is not the same as intimacy.”

“Of course it is, what else would it be?” Dean huffed.

“Sex is your refuge,” Castiel stated bluntly. “It’s your sanctum. It’s where you go to feel safe; not to expose yourself.”

Dean crossed his arms over his chest with an offended snort and turned his eyes away, but not quick enough for Cas to miss out on the uncertain flicker directed at the floor before he did so.

“Wow, just lay it on me there, Dr. Phil…” Dean muttered under his breath. Castiel ignored him.

“You are having doubts about your sexual preferences. I understand that it must be very confusing for you, but intercourse will not make the doubts go away.”

Dean snorted, still staring intently at the wall above the headboard of the bed.

“Well, I’m willing to take whatever chances I can get.”

Castiel sucked in a breath through his teeth, feeling his chest pull tight like a drawstring around his lungs.

“Does it really repulse you that much?”

The hurt in his own voice was something he had not intended to be heard, but it seemed to take the oldest Winchester off guard nonetheless. Dean’s eyes snapped away from the wall to look back at him, confused.

“Do you find your feelings towards me so unappealing…” Castiel continued, voice low and scarred. “… that you’d rather defile your self respect in such a manner, rather than facing the prospect of having to feel that way for me again?”

His wings drooped behind his back, pulling close to his body, and even though he hated the instinctive reaction, he couldn’t stop it. His initial happiness to find that Dean had feelings towards him had been abruptly ripped away by this new information, by the fact that Dean didn’t _want_ to feel that way.

He couldn’t stand to face him, could no longer bear the sight of those eyes where he had placed his faith, his loyalty and the hopes of his affections so many times. The rejection hurt, an actual physical pain cutting a path from his chest and out through the rest of his body, and for a few horrible moments he desperately wished that he had never found out about it at all. Ignorance is bliss, and he’d rather have lived forever hoping for Dean’s affections than having to spend another second in the shadow of his rejection.

Dean was still watching him, his eyes slowly tracing over the lines of his face; he could feel it like a physical touch on his skin. He closed his eyes, fighting off the shudder that wanted to course through him, because no. Dean’s touch would never be the same, not now, not _ever,_ and the thought alone made him want to blow out every single window across the span of the continent.

“No.”

Castiel’s eyes shot open at the sound of Dean’s voice, a mere whisper in the silent room, but still fully capable of making his heart stop.

He turned his head, forcing his eyes up to level with Dean’s, wings twitching. The hunter’s eyes were marred with feelings, _all_ feelings, but there was something in there, covered by the pain and the fear that made Castiel’s dying hope give a feeble kick to the surface once more. Dean sighed, his body swaying as if he was dying to take a step forward, but was holding himself back.

“No,” he repeated. “I don’t find it… _repulsive_ … It’s just—It’s all new, you know? I’m not having doubts about anything, I mean you saw that for yourself just now, right?”

Castiel’s brow furrowed.

“Then why all this anxiety?” he asked, forcing his voice above that of a mumble.

Dean threw out his hands.

“What difference does it make?” he groaned, but Castiel didn’t buy it.

“It makes all the difference. I want to help you, I do, but forcing yourself into physical proximity with me will solve nothing. The point—”

“The _point,_ ” Dean interrupted with an eye roll. “Is that in a few hours we’ll be at it again and we both know what will happen then. It’s too strong, Cas, we won’t be able to fight it. It’s easier this way, I can take it.”

“No.” Castiel shook his head and turned his back at the other, but Dean didn’t give up.

“C’mon. So we fuck and if nothing changes then you’ll be a little closer to fully charged, plus you get to say ‘I told you so’.” The corner of Dean’s mouth quirked into a hollow smile. “I won’t even bitch about it,” he promised, making Castiel’s hands fist silently by his sides.

Always trying to shrug it off with a joke… It was so typically Dean it made his insides ache.

“Dean...”

“I’m being serious.”

Midnight wings flared as the angel turned back around, eyes hard and dark feathers spanning out behind him.

“So am I,” he growled, suddenly furious. “You are indecisive and confused; we should not even be having this conversation!”

“Would you _stop_ being such a goddamn _pussy_ about this already?!”

Dean’s anger showered over him like blistering rain, and Castiel gritted his teeth against the onslaught.

“If you don’t want to sleep with me, then how come you’re the one who fucking dream-raped me just minutes ago!”

“I did not intend to do _anything_ to you!” Castiel hissed, slits of blue gleaming dangerously. “And you know that what you’re suggesting is not only a repulsive act in itself, but also an unworthy accusation, and I _do not_ approve of it.”

Dean crossed his arms over his chest, sending him a defensive look.

“Besides, “ Cas added, that low growl slipping back into his voice. “It’s impossible to rape the willing.”

Dean’s eyes grew instantly cold and his shoulders went rigid, squaring defensively.

“Not cool, Cas,” he gritted out, but Castiel didn’t care.

“Call it what you like,” he snorted. Dean swallowed, his tongue swiping out to lick across his bottom lip. Castiel made a very valiant effort not to stare at it.

“So that’s the game you’re going to play, huh? Acting all high and mighty?” Dean gestured to him. “What about when your grace decides it doesn’t want to wait for us to just ‘happen’ anymore? You’re just going to let it kill us both because of some stupid, romantic principle?”

“If I have to.”

“You’re out of your goddamn head,” Dean growled.

“Perhaps.”

Dean glowered at him and Castiel glowered right back.

The tension was thick in the air, anger and hurt filling up the space between them, but they could both feel the other, more carnal urge that lay directly beneath. It was building up again, the bond between soul and grace, and it was tugging at them like a wild animal on a chain. The sizzle in the air screamed for physical contact and right now that urge could just as well manifest itself in a fistfight as in the passionate entwining of bodies.

Castiel meant every word of what he said. If Dean was hesitant to his motives of having sex with him, then Castiel would not let him sacrifice his self respect over something that Castiel had initially caused, knowing or not.

Dean had given up enough of himself to cover a thousand life times; asking the man to do something like this against his will was not a fair thing to do. Castiel just hoped that when it all came tumbling down, he would have the strength to resist following, for both their sakes…

“I’m not letting you do this, Dean,” he said firmly. “Not until you are sure that it is something you truly want.”

Dean responded by once again rolling his eyes.

“When are you going to get it?” he sighed. “There _is_ no choice! So I’m not sure about _why_ I want to do this, but in the long run that doesn’t matter!”

“It matters to me,” Castiel deadpanned.

“Oh, yeah? Why?”

“How do you think it would make me feel?” he asked sharply. “Knowing that we were having sex even though you didn’t really want to?”

Dean’s jaw shut with an audible click of teeth and Castiel narrowed his eyes at him.

“You hadn’t even thought about that, had you?” he asked. When Dean’s mouth opened and closed again, Castiel sighed loudly, without realizing it rolling his own eyes to the ceiling in a perfect mimic of Dean’s movement from just a moment ago.

“Sometimes, the obvious lack of velocity in your brain amazes me,” he muttered.

“Don’t get quirky with me, feathers,” Dean grumbled, but when Castiel only continued to glare he threw out his hands and sighed heavily, defeated.

“Alright, fine, whatever. I give up, you win.” When Castiel only gave him a raised brow in return he continued: “If you want us to go on some crazy sex-strike, then fine. I’m just saying that I don’t think it’ll work.”

“It must work,” Castiel argued and Dean’s shoulder slouched, losing their hostility.

“Cas, c’mon…” he pleaded. “This is insane! The fever damn near killed us both once already. I mean, there are some pretty rough rules to these situations, we can’t just ignore those.”

Castiel’s gaze lowered to the floor, contemplating the words for a few seconds.

“True…” he agreed, glancing up to meet Dean’s doubtful gaze, “but since when have we ever cared about rules?”

Dean blinked, staring at him in caught off guard surprise, and then slowly, slowly, a grin began creeping over his lips before he snorted out a short, disbelieving laugh.

“Touché,” he admitted, and Castiel found his own lips drawing wider in response, if ever so subtly when the suffocating energy that had been soaking the room dissolved between them.

“So we’re doing this then?” Dean asked and Castiel nodded once.

“Until you’ve made up your mind, yes.” He narrowed his eyes towards the Winchester. “And may I suggest that you refrain from trying to deceive me on the subject. You know I will find out about the truth anyway.”

Dean gnawed on his bottom lip, looking as if he was trying to work out a plan to how to prevent that particular event from happening. One sharp look from Castiel, however, and he abruptly straightened up, seemingly abandoning that line of thought as if he had been caught doing something rude.

“Yeah, I kinda figured that part out already.” Dean sighed and scratched his neck, glancing around the room in a long, elusive swipe before settling his gaze on Castiel. For the first time since he had entered the room, he no longer had that insane shimmer in his eyes, their color now the familiar green that Castiel could watch without feeling like he was suffocating from the inside.

“Just, you know, to be clear,” Dean said slowly. “You still… want me, right?”

Castiel’s heart skipped inside his chest at the hopeful tone that snuck into Dean’s voice. Or was it his imagination…?

“I do,” he said solemnly, “but I also have more self respect than to let that emotion get the better of me.”

Dean looked at him, gaze slowly dropping to slide over the naked skin of Castiel’s chest, his mouth falling open with a shudder.

“This is going to be a bitch, you know that, right?” he groaned quietly.

Castiel’s lip quirked, and he reached out to give the other’s mind a soothing brush with his own consciousness before he turned around, walking out of the room without another word.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading, guys <3  
> I hope you all enjoyed the chapter, if so, please feel free to leave me a little line (or more) on your thoughts in the comments :)  
> I'd really appreciate it, as always.
> 
> Take care of yourselves, darlings, and I'll see you next Thursday <3


	9. 9

The next morning, Dean woke up to the intoxicating smell of breakfast winding itself through the air, accompanied by the distant banging of pots and pans that drifting through the closed doors of the kitchen.

He got up from the sofa and stretched, yawning widely before he padded over to the doors and pushed them open, revealing the sight of Castiel, who had just flipped a pancake down on top of an already impressive stack that had been placed on the kitchen table, along with a plate of bacon and eggs; sunny side up, just like Dean liked them. 

The angel was once again wearing his dark slacks, but he had managed to get his hands on a baby blue, short sleeved, button-up shirt, which Dean could only guess originated from Bobby’s closet, judging by the size of it. Granted, it wasn’t the tent that Sam’s shirt had been, but it was still obviously too big for the slender frame of the former Jimmy Novak’s body, even when held in place by Bobby’s old apron. When Dean opened the doors, Castiel turned towards him, the grease stained encouragement to ‘kiss the cook’ sending an appreciative jolt down Dean’s spine.

However, for the first time in days, Dean’s attention was not exclusively directed towards Castiel.

“Wow, Cas, you opening up a diner or something?” Dean marvelled, taking in the abundant amount of food towering in front of him. 

“No diner, just breakfast,” the angel responded solemnly as he placed a glass of freshly squeezed orange juice next to the single plate laid out on the table. Sam was sitting in an old high chair on the short end, carefully positioned out of reach of both the tablecloth as well as the tableware residing on it. However, the smears of blueberry jam and pancake dough on his cheeks proved that he had already managed to get his hands on some breakfast of his own.

“Eat,” Castiel ordered and gestured for Dean to sit down, to which Dean happily obliged. He dragged in the pleasant smell of pancakes and maple syrup through his nose, his stomach eagerly reminding him that he hadn’t eaten properly for almost two days.

“I didn’t know you were such a badass in the kitchen,” he jabbed, digging his fork into the top layer of the stack and throwing a bunch of the drenched flapjacks onto his plate. The golden smear of the syrup dripped down onto his plate as he brought up his fork to place the first bite of his breakfast into his mouth. When his lips sealed around the food, he had to close his eyes and hold back an obscene groan, because, lord have mercy, this had to be the most delicious thing he had ever eaten!

“Jimmy was an excellent cook,” Castiel answered his unspoken question matter-of-factly, seemingly unaware of the fact that Dean was currently in the middle of a mind blowing foodgasm. “When he became my vessel, a few of his memories were passed on to me, including the knowledge he had in the culinary arts. They are a bit vague, but I think I’ve managed to grasp the concept.” The angel finished the sentence by nonchalantly flipping another pancake in the air and catching it in the frying pan.

“Show off,” Dean grumbled around his food, more or less inhaling it rather than chewing it, thusly not arguing with the other’s statement.

“You’re going to get ill if you eat too fast,” Castiel pointed out, but immediately contradicted himself by dumping the new pancake on top of the ones already residing on Dean’s plate. 

“Hey, don’t talk to me about food.” Dean pointed his fork at him like a lecturing finger. “If there’s one thing I know, it’s how to eat.”

“Of course,” Castiel answered calmly. The only thing that gave his impassive demeanour away was the amused rustle of feathers that sounded when Dean proceeded to stuff his face with another load from the steaming plate. Dean would have chuckled if doing so wouldn’t have made him choke on his food.

“So, what’s with the luxury treatment?” he asked instead, washing down the food with a gulp of orange juice. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d say that you’re trying to seduce me here.” He wiggled his eyebrows suggestively over the edge of his glass, but Castiel only gave him a look that told him to stop being so full of himself.

“We really should stay clear of any topic that implies sexual interest for the time being,” he cautioned. “Even though you feel unaffected by my grace at the moment, things will not be so easy once the urges set in.”

“Yeah, I know… ” Dean sighed, rolling a pancake around the bend of his fork. “Sorry.”

The angel nodded and turned back to the stove, plucking with the now empty bowl of pancake mix.

“My advice is that you find something to occupy yourself with in order to keep your mind off such thoughts. I believe that the auto-shop out back would be a good place for you to stay during the day.”

Dean nodded in agreement. He always zoned out when he worked on motors; it would without a doubt help him not to think about the angel inside the house. He looked up at Castiel, who had put the frying pan aside and was now rummaging through the pantry in the hunt of something that he, judging from the frown on his face, obviously was having trouble finding. That’s when the realization hit.

“That’s what this cooking frenzy of yours is all about?” he asked in disbelief. “To keep your mind off me?”

Castiel shut the pantry door and turned towards him, jaws defensively set. It was quite obvious that he didn’t like that Dean had figured him out that quickly. Their eyes made contact and Dean’s stomach knotted viciously when those glistening blue orbs locked onto his. It only lasted for a split second, and then Castiel turned away, fisting his hands against the countertop, the ridge of his wings suddenly looking a lot less smooth than when Dean had first walked into the kitchen. 

When Dean’s gaze fell on the hands balled against the sink, his thoughts immediately went back to the last time they had been in this room together; when the slightest touch of his hands had made Castiel come undone before his very eyes, and he unconsciously let out a soft groan. At the sound, Castiel’s breath hitched, and his wings twitched when a spasm travelled through the feathers, making them flutter violently.

“Dean…” The angel fastened his eyes on a spot somewhere between his fisted hands. ”I think you should go outside.”

“Yeah…” Dean agreed, swallowing hard around the sudden lump in his throat. “That’s probably a good idea…” 

He got up and started walking towards the door that led past the angel and out into the corridor, but after only two steps Castiel’s voice made him stop dead in his tracks.

“The other way,” he groaned. Dean held up his hands in defence, palms facing out.

“It’s okay, man. I’m not gonna jump you.” The words were reassuring, but somewhere deep inside, he wasn’t really sure if he believed them himself. Neither did the angel, it seemed, because Castiel just shook his head, the faintest of disbelieving snickers making its way across his lips.

“Trust me, Dean…” A pair of predatorily blue eyes turned to settle on Dean over a shirt-clad shoulder. “ _ Your _ actions are not the ones I’m worried about,” Castiel assured him pointedly, and for a moment, Dean forgot how to breathe.

His heart was skipping a million beats inside his chest, lungs collapsing from the intensity of Castiel’s eyes, making him feel like a mouse being sized up by a lion. Then Castiel drew a shaky breath and turned his gaze to the countertop once more.

“The other way, Dean.”

Dean was halfway through the living room before Castiel had even finished the sentence.

 

/\/\/\/\/\/\

 

The rusty old Ford had a busted cylinder block and the oil definitely needed changing, but otherwise there wasn’t much wrong with it… except that it was a Ford. 

Dean didn’t like Fords; the gearboxes always broke down, the wiring was a complete nightmare, the rust basically thrived on the suckers, and in Dean’s opinion they were also downright  _ ugly _ . Except for the ‘69 Mustang Mach 1; those were hot. Impractical as hell, but still nice. 

Bobby, however, obviously couldn’t live without the damn things; a passion which had resulted in a yard that consisted fifty percent of Ford, while the other half was made up by a mix of other brands like Chevy, Audi, and Rover. It always meant that there were plenty of spare parts lying around for repairs, though, so at the moment, Dean couldn’t complain.

It had been three hours since Castiel chased him out of the house, and he had been working on the same old heap of a car ever since; to the point where he actually began wondering why Bobby even bothered with keeping the crappy piece of junk with all the problems it had. The problems were all gone now, of course, even if they had been a real pain in Dean’s ass to get rid of. Though, he had to reluctantly admit that the labour had indeed successfully managed to keep his thoughts under control throughout the day. Especially the more colorful ones involving feathers and sweat-drenched skin… 

To be completely honest with himself, he hadn’t felt any major physical reactions to thoughts like that ever since he got away from Castiel’s immediate presence. They made his stomach tighten and his pulse quicken slightly, but that was about all there was to it. He absentmindedly wondered if all these precautions were really necessary. He felt closer to normal than he had for several days, and it felt dumb to keep this whole thing up if it didn’t actually serve a purpose anymore. He had almost managed to convince himself that he was right when he remembered Castiel’s eyes… 

Those eyes had not belonged to someone longing to be touched and ravished. No, they had been the eyes of someone who wanted nothing more but to grab and  _ claim _ . In that short moment, Dean had been given a glimpse of the warrior and, in every sense,  _ lethal  _ creature that was Castiel, and the sight had made his heart jump and blood to run feverishly hot through his veins. Just that short, heart-stopping flicker of a gaze.

Apparently, the lack of physical contact was harder for Castiel to withstand than it was for Dean, most probably because no matter how weak, Castiel still inhabited more grace than Dean’s fragile human body could ever hope to handle. As Dean’s celestial supplies had grown sparser with every shuddered climax and gut-wrenching orgasm, so had his overwhelming fever and shivering fits, while Castiel’s on the other hand, only appeared to get worse.

At the moment, Cas seemed to be doing fairly okay, but Dean suspected that it was only a matter of time before the angel reverted back to the same feverish apparition that he had been the other night. Whether it be hours or days, Dean didn’t know, he just knew that it was sure to happen eventually.

Damn, why were they even doing this? Dean wasn’t in any real danger, he realized that much by now. Yes, his reactions to Castiel’s presence were powerful and overwhelming, but they still felt  _ normal. _ Normal enough that the heat that spread through Dean’s limbs at the sight of the angel was appearing to be solely generated by his own body rather than Castiel’s grace. 

And that’s where things got scary.

Because even though the urges caused by the celestial power were fading, Dean was obviously still attracted to Castiel. So if the grace wasn’t causing it… then…

He kicked the tire of the Ford and straightened up with a groan. He knew what it meant, of course he did. After the little chat he and Castiel had gone through the night before, how could he not? He just wasn’t sure if he was ready to accept it yet. 

He wasn’t gay, because guys still didn’t appeal to him like girls did, but when it came to Castiel… somehow that stuff just didn’t seem to matter. 

The guy had a dick, and stubble, and an impossibly dark voice, yet how was all of that supposed to be a problem when Dean’s dick obviously thought they were the sexiest things since lace panties? 

He was  _ attracted  _ to Castiel, and he knew it, but the problem really wasn’t the  _ knowing _ ; it was  _ admitting _ . 

He wished that he’d have the guts it took to say it out loud. To put it into words and come clean to himself. To push the doubts aside and for once allow himself to go with his own desires without having guilt smash down on him afterwards like a twelve-storey building. 

But of course, he didn’t dare to.

Because if he did all that and accepted his feelings, it meant that Castiel would become something more than he already was. Something valuable Dean could lose; someone that could be stolen away from him like so many others had.

If Cas were to be ripped out of his hands, he would lose something that was more than just another friend, and Dean wasn’t sure if he would be able to handle that. 

Of course, Castiel had already been lost to him once, when Lucifer had finger-snapped him into a splattered mess of blood and raw meat on that field all those months ago. But then he had returned, before Dean, in his grief over Sam, even had the chance to fully grasp the fact that he was gone. Dean had barely been given time to mourn the loss of the two most important people of his life before the angel had been there by his side once more, fingertips to his forehead and swallowing him up in a sea of cerulean blue.

If he ever were to face such a loss again…

He glanced up at the house and sighed.

The reasons to why he had fallen for Cas were abundant, really. Like this, in hindsight, he could list hundreds of reasons as to why the angel had become such an important part of his existence, but for the life of him, he couldn’t understand what could  _ possibly _ have invoked such feelings about him within Castiel himself. 

Normally, angels looked at humans with condescendence and disgust, but Castiel, who instead of smiting the human who continuously insulted him whenever he got the chance, had for some godforsaken reason decided to fall in love with him instead! 

Dean sighed heavily as he leaned back against the hood.

“Always the rebel, huh, Cas?” he mumbled, picking up the opened bottle of beer that he had left sitting on the roof of the car. He took a long swig and then put it back before bending down over the open hood once more, determined to get that damn cylinder block replaced before lunch.

 

/\/\/\/\/\/\

 

Castiel called him in about two hours later, once more ordering him to sit down by the table and eat. Dean couldn’t help but notice the obvious way the angel was  _ not _ looking at him during the entire time he spent inside the house, and even though Dean tried to engage in conversation with him, Castiel’s answers were monotonous and often single syllabled. Taking the hint, Dean quickly finished his lunch—Castiel’s food was delicious, so eating was not an issue—and then hurried back outside while still chewing on his last mouthful.

Slowly, the day passed. Dean came waltzing back to the front porch of the house at about eight o’clock, covered in grease and oil stains, but undeniably satisfied with his day’s work. He opened the door and walked inside, opening his mouth to call out to Castiel in the process so that the angel would know that he was back. 

As he inhaled, he couldn’t help but notice the breathtaking scent of food that seemed to saturate the air inside the house.

“Damn Cas, that smells good!” he called as he walked down the hallway. “I’m starving, what’s for din—“

He cut himself short, stopping dead in the doorway to the kitchen, completely taken aback by the surreal vision that sprung before his eyes. 

The entire kitchen; every horizontal surface, every single square foot—with the exception of a few patches on the floor—were filled with pots, saucepans, kettles, baking sheets, baking tins, and platters,  _ brimming  _ with food. 

It all looked and smelled like Heaven, and for a moment Dean wondered if he had fallen asleep inside the hood of that stupid old Torino outside and was dreaming. Then, he spotted the obscured patch of a blue shirt and black tousled hair behind a mountain of what Dean immediately recognized to be pie, quickly informing him that no, this was no dream.

“Uh, Cas?”

There was a low grumble in response, and the blue shirt shifted slowly.

“What is all this?” 

Dean gestured around the room with his arm, to which Castiel raised his head from the tabletop where he had been resting it atop of his folded arms, looking around, eyes hazy with sleep.

“Food,” he grated out after a few owlish blinks, as if the current state of the room was one of the most normal things in the world.

“Well, yeah, I can see that,” Dean answered. “Who’s gonna eat all this?”

Castiel groaned as he stood up from the table and gracefully maneuvered himself over a casserole that blocked his path.

“Consuming everything I cooked was never part of the plan,” he admitted, dragging the palm of his hands over his eyes. 

Dean regarded him skeptically, trying not to think about how absolutely adorable the angel looked with his hair all rumpled and shirt hanging askew on his shoulders. A delicate dip of a clavicle bone peeked out from beneath the fabric, and images of how well his tongue would fit against that space suddenly swept through Dean’s head. The thought made his hands twitch in their struggle not to reach out and simply pull that blue fabric aside to lick the salt off that deliciously tan skin.

Castiel didn’t seem to notice his inner conflict—or perhaps he did, judging by the way he was still  _ not _ facing him—and Dean somehow managed to tear his eyes away, clearing his throat. He tried his best not to linger on the way Castiel’s breath hitched in response to the sharp sound.

“So,” he tried hopefully, even though he realized how futile it was. “Since you’ve stopped cooking, I’m going to assume that you’re feeling better, right?” 

Castiel sighed, dragging his hand up to rub across his neck; a movement Dean had only seen him do once before, when the subject of the angel’s insistent virginity had been brought into the spotlight for the first time. 

It was an adorable little tell, but no matter how awkwardly endearing that nervous fidgeting was, it did not bode well for their current situation.

“Not exactly,” Castiel admitted reluctantly. “Jimmy was a good cook, but even he runs out of food to prepare eventually. As does Bobby’s pantry.” 

Castiel’s hand dropped, blue eyes darting around the kitchen; looking, searching for a distraction. “I have to find something else to do,” he declared begrudgingly.

“Yeah, you do that.” Dean cleared his throat, grabbing one of the pies that were balancing on his right and grinned, momentarily pushing their predicament aside. “I’ll help you get rid of these until we’ve figured something out.”

 

/\/\/\/\/\/\

 

They stayed separated for the rest of the evening.

Dean could still feel the Grace tug at his soul, but it was not even close to the fierce need he had experienced before. Castiel, on the other hand, seemed to fare much worse. 

He stayed put inside the guest room and only ventured outside when Sam started crying, not even giving Dean a chance to deal with the situation himself. Dean suspected that it was because it gave him something to focus on besides Dean, who was lying sprawled out on the sofa with a half empty tray of pie in his lap—his fourth one of the evening. 

Every time the angel appeared in the doorway, Dean instinctively tried to make eye contact, but there was none to be had. Castiel was avoiding him to the point of ridiculousness, sometimes not even answering when Dean spoke to him. Though, luckily for Dean, Castiel’s wings did a lot of the talking for him.

Big, puffy, and ruffled, the feathers vibrated shamelessly as soon as Dean moved more than an inch. It was fascinating to watch, but Dean was also intensely aware of the fact that he was basically staring straight at the equivalent of an angelic erection. 

It was a strange thought, and it made Dean feel flustered beyond compare whenever it struck him, but he just couldn’t stop thinking about it. It was exciting, knowing that his proximity affected the other to such a degree. It made him think of… things. Things that he really shouldn’t think of considering their current situation, but that were very, very tempting.

Like saying something incredibly suggestive. Or to moan loudly around the pie in his mouth. Or to get up and run his hands through the feathers and smother the angel’s mouth with a kiss.

He never did, though.

It wouldn’t be fair to Castiel, not after the agreement they had made, but also because the thought scared him. He wasn’t ready to take that step without the Grace loosening his inhibitions first, and he really wasn’t ready to think about what would happen afterwards, should he do it.

Castiel couldn’t read his mind anymore, but Dean suspected that the angel had a pretty good idea about what Dean was thinking anyway, if the way he kept avoiding him was of any indication.

Still, in spite of Dean’s vivid imagination and Castiel’s crumbling self-restraint, they managed to make it through the first day without any grace-related incidents. 

The second day followed just the same. Castiel discovered the disputable joys of cleaning while Dean spent his time in the garage, only allowed inside when it was time to eat or sleep. Dean knew that he should probably feel a bit offended by being kept out of the house like a dog, but since he liked the garage and knew that it was for the greater good, he didn’t really mind the treatment. 

When lunch came around on the third day of their chastity agreement, he came inside just in time to catch Castiel hunched down over the vacuum cleaner on the living room floor. Cas was clicking desperately on the power button while Sam watched, wide-eyed from inside the bars of his crib. Before Dean had the time to shout out a warning, there was a mute poof, and then smoke came billowing out of the machine.

“Shit!” 

Dean threw himself forward and ripped the cord out of the socket. Grabbing the comforter by the sofa, he then used the blanket to smother the small tongues of fire that were now licking out from the air intakes of the machine.

Sam shrieked happily and clapped his hands together in childish delight at his performance, but Castiel just stared at Dean as if he had gone crazy. Dean threw the blanket to the side and managed to squeeze out an apologetic smile.

“It overheats,” he explained awkwardly. “Bobby keeps saying he’s going to fix it, but… apparently he hasn’t gotten around to it yet.”

Castiel’s’ eyes darted from the vacuum cleaner on the floor and then back up at Dean, conveying a look that wordlessly stated that Bobby was clearly insane to keep such dangerous pieces of equipment lying around the house without proper warnings. Dean grinned back, for a moment forgetting the reason as to why Castiel had been so eager to get the machine working in the first place.

It all came crashing back, however, when Dean’s smile caused a whisper of feathers to fill the room, making Castiel’s eyes flutter shut. It was obvious that he was having trouble keeping himself under control; his chest heaving and fingers curling into the carpet below them. 

“Cas…?” Dean breathed.

“You should leave,” Castiel groaned back, a shiver making his voice break.

“Are you sure?” Dean asked. “Cas… if you can’t—”

“ _ Dean! _ ”

“Alright, alright, I’m going…!” 

Dean got up from the floor and scurried out the door, leaving Castiel in a shuddering heap on the floor next to the broken vacuum cleaner. 

Slumping against the bannister of the porch outside, he couldn’t help the sense of complete ineptness that crept up his spine. He felt so useless, knowing that there was literally nothing he could do to help the angel inside the house.

Well, of course there was  _ one _ thing, but that would be… a major step, to say the least. Dean still wasn’t sure if the way his stomach kept knotting at the thought was caused by excitement, or panic over the fact that he was even thinking about doing something like that in the first place. 

Cas would know though, he thought dejectedly. Cas would take one look at him, see that he wasn’t fully ready yet and then tell him to go back outside and bury himself in a carbonator until he got his head screwed on straight. Figuratively speaking, of course… That was, if Castiel had been capable to form more than single syllabled words…  

Later, when he came back inside after the sun had since long disappeared below the horizon, he found a lone plate with cherry pie sitting on the table as he entered the kitchen. Sammy was quietly asleep in his crib and Castiel was nowhere to be seen, the door to the guest room firmly locked from the inside.

 

/\/\/\/\/\/\

 

On the fourth day, Dean received a call from Bobby, who told him that he would be gone for a while longer; the hunt was dragging out.

“So how’s the love life?” the old man jabbed through the phone and Dean snorted, closing the door to the old Chevy he’d been working on.

“Like rainbows and kittens,” he grunted.

“I take it from the chirp in your voice that you guys are still beating around the bush then?”

Dean’s mind drifted to the way Castiel’s wings had quivered beneath his fingertips; the delicious sounds fleeing the angel’s mouth starting up on a loop inside his head, causing fire to stir in his abdomen.

“You might call it that,” he mumbled, thinking that Bobby really wouldn’t be in dire need to know about the events that had transpired on his kitchen counter. There was a short pause on the other side of the line and Dean could picture the suspicious frown marring the old man’s face even before he heard it in his voice.

“I thought this grace thing was an all-or-nothing kinda deal,” he said slowly. “Yet you don’t exactly sound like you’re dying?” Somehow, the old man managed to sound both relieved and suspicious at the same time.

“I’m fine,” Dean sighed, shooting a quick glance up towards the house. “Cas ain’t doing too good though…”

“Dean…” Bobby’s tone was reprimanding. “I know that you’re not exactly thrilled about the situation, but if you let the poor sap die because of this—”

“I’m not letting him die!” Dean cut him off. “Geez, Bobby…”

“I’m just sayin,” Bobby defended himself. “I know that you’re a big fan of finding alternate ways out of trouble, and you usually succeed, but— Just this once, I think that you might have to consider the option of giving up on the compromises for a change.”

Dean sighed, dragging a hand over his eyes

“Yeah…” he said. “I know.”

There was another pause and then Bobby’s voice was heard again, low and sincere.

“You keep him alive, you hear me, boy?”

“Yeah…” It almost came out as a ‘yes sir’. “Yeah, I hear ya, Bobby…”

“Good.” Bobby sighed, for a moment sounding as if he was going to say something else, before continuing, tiredly: “Say hello to Sammy for me, will ya?”

 

/\/\/\/\/\/\

 

On the evening of day five, Dean was sitting perched on the sofa with a ten inch, freshly prepared hero sandwich in his hands, and a content smile on his face. 

Sam was already sound asleep, snoring as usual, and Castiel was in the kitchen, the double doors firmly closed and separating them from each other’s views. 

They had discovered that is was easier for the angel to manage normal conversation as long as he didn’t have to face Dean directly. Dean had to admit that even though he found it a bit awkward not being able to read Castiel’s facial expressions during their little talks, it still came down to the inevitable fact that awkward talks were better than no talks at all… 

As of now, Castiel was still washing up the dishes from his little cooking spree earlier that week, cleaning up the pots and pans that had already been emptied.

Even though Bobby’s fridge had been stuffed beyond its capacity (to the point where they had to secure the door with one of Bobby’s old leather belts) and Dean had done a very ambitious job to make sure that none of the remaining food would go to waste, there was still an abundance of food that they would probably be forced to throw away, eventually. 

As Dean took a huge bite out of the sandwich in his hand—he had assured Castiel that cutlery would not be necessary—he could hear the sound of water sloshing and plates clattering from the other side of the doors to the kitchen.

“Hey, Cas,” he called out in between the bites of his sandwich.

“Yes?” came the calm answer to through the door.

Dean leaned forward to prevent some of the dressing dripping onto Bobby’s sofa. Not that the sofa was that clean to begin with, but because Castiel had spent most of the day trying to improve it of its normal uncleanliness. The dude might not have many angel-powers left, but apparently photographic memory wasn’t one of the abilities missing, so if Dean as much as splattered a drop, Castiel would be all over his ass once he found out. Dean’s mental choice of words completely unintentional, of course.

“I’ve been thinking about something.” The words rolled around the food in his mouth, coming out in the form of partial grunts and munches. “I don’t think your grace is affecting me anymore.”

There was a brief silence, only disturbed by the cluttered sound of water and clattering porcelain.

“What makes you think that?” 

The tone of Castiel’s voice was a bit tight, but Dean didn’t linger on it. Cas had begun to sound increasingly snappish around him lately; for good reason, he suspected.

“Well…” Dean started, thinking about how to put it. “It’s just that I haven’t been feeling all that feverish in the past few days. And… oh, what the hell, I haven’t been feeling as horny as I used to, either.”

More silence followed. For a moment Dean thought that he had gone overboard with his blunt confession, but then Castiel’s voice came drifting through the doors again.

“You mean that you feel nothing?” There was a flutter of disappointment weaving through the words.

“No, not  _ nothing _ ,” Dean objected. “Just not as much. You still, you know, turn me on.” He grinned when an exceptionally loud  _ clank  _ was heard from the other room.

“I see.” 

Dean grinned wider when the angel cleared his throat before continuing:

“The most probable explanation would be that since the amount of grace in your system has been reduced, your… cravings surely have been decreased along with it.” Castiel’s tone was that of reason, but Dean could still detect a hint of disapproval swimming somewhere just beneath the surface.

“Yeah, that’s what I thought too,” he admitted, absentmindedly licking a smear of dressing off his thumb. “But if that’s the case, then how come it only seems to have gotten worse for you?”

“My grace is still significantly low compared to its usual state,” Castiel sighed. “The fact that there is remaining grace so close, no matter how small of an amount, still causes my body to yearn for it.”

Dean gnawed his lower lip, looking down at the half eaten sandwich in his hands.

“Then why don’t you just take it?” he asked.

“We’ve discussed this already, Dean.” 

Yup, ‘snappy’ was indeed the right word here.

“I know we have,“ Dean sighed. “But c’mon, man; we’re literally having a conversation through a wall here. It’s getting ridiculous.”

“It’s not a wall, it’s a door,” Cas deadpanned and Dean huffed.

“You know what I mean,” he grumbled. “And it’s still ridiculous.” 

“And your suggestion would be?” Castiel asked testily.

“Why, I— I mean, there’s always the obvious option,” he stuttered.

“I already told you,” Castiel reminded. “I’m not going to let you sacrifice such an important part of yourself for me.”

“Don’t you think that should be my choice?” Dean asked, feeling indignation rise inside his chest. 

“In this case?” Castiel retorted. “No.”

Dean tossed the food back down onto his plate, nearly missing it in the process.

“I’m not a child, Cas,” he snarled.

“Sometimes I find it difficult to agree with that.”

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?” Dean snapped. “A few days ago you seemed perfectly fine about me groping you ten ways from Sunday, and now all of a sudden I’m not  _ mature  _ enough for you?”

“That was… different.”

“Different?” Dean probed.

“Yes,” Castiel growled impatiently “ _ Different _ .”

“And why is that exactly?”

“You already know why.” 

_ How would it make you feel if you knew you were having sex with someone who didn’t really want to have sex with  _ you _? _

Dean swallowed down the snappy retort that had been about to fly out of his mouth. Instead, he picked up his food again, fighting the guilt coiling in his gut at the memory of those wounded words. Suddenly, the sandwich didn’t taste as good anymore; the bread sticking to the roof of his mouth in dry clumps, making the task of swallowing almost impossible. 

He knew that bringing up their previous little rendezvous had been a low blow. He knew that Castiel had allowed him to do the things he had done because the angel had thought it was what Dean wanted. And Dean had wanted. Oh, sweet Jesus, the desire he had felt, but sadly, things were indeed different now.

Dean was indecisive and Castiel was hurt; both enslaved under a power neither of them were really strong enough to fight, and it was just  _ different _ . This whole situation was fucked up beyond measure, and the fact that Dean’s libido was still having heated arguments with his brain on the subject wasn’t really helping. 

Dean liked Cas, he did, and his dick  _ definitely  _ liked Cas, so there shouldn’t really be anything to hold him back, but… Fuck this would be so much easier if only the two of them would have been able to communicate normally, at least. Arguing with a wall—or door, whatever—wasn’t exactly what he would call efficient. Then again, without the physical barrier present, they would probably be tangled up and grinding against each other on the living room table right about now…

“I admire your discipline, you know,” Dean said solemnly.

“What do you mean?” Castiel asked.

“I mean… I know that I’m not as affected by this as you are anymore, but… damn, had the roles been reversed, I probably would have fucked you up against the nearest wall a long time ago.”

This time, the racket from the kitchen was considerably noisier, but it was ended abruptly by a shocked gasp from Castiel, followed by a hollow bang when something that sounded like a frying pan hit the floor.

“Cas?”

Dean scrambled to his feet and tore the two sliding doors open, finding Castiel standing by the sink, clutching around his left hand. His teeth were bared in a silent snarl, the grip of his fingers marred by a steady flow of red droplets that trickled down his arm to stain the rugged old carpet next to the saucepan lying at his feet; explaining the origin of the bang Dean had heard moments before.

“Cas? What the—”

Castiel looked up and then nodded to the lathery water still sloshing in the basin.

“A knife in the sink. I need— I can’t heal myself—”

Dean ripped a kitchen towel from the hanger by the oven and moved over to press it against the wound on Castiel’s wrist, but to his surprise Castiel flinched away, glaring Dean’s outstretched hand with wings flared out in evasion, as if the gesture had been one of harmful intentions.

“Don’t touch me!” he snarled. Dean froze, and Castiel used the temporary window of opportunity to snatch the towel from his grip. Dean stared as the normally so docile angel then used his free hand and teeth to tie a knot around the crimson opening in the palm of his hand.

“ _ You _ can’t ever touch  _ me _ ,” Cas repeated, putting emphasis on the words as if they were a matter of life and death, making Dean step back, hands held up in feigned defence.

“Sorry,” he snorted, hurt twisting through his chest with a twinge. “Man, you’re touchy today…”

Castiel stilled, his shoulders hunched and wings raised high above his head, as if repelling some kind of invisible force.

“Touchy?” he growled. 

Dean knew, right then and there, that he had just managed to stomp his big ass feet right into a fucking bear trap.

“Cas,” he tried. “Dude… I’m sorry, okay, I didn’t realize—”

The edge of the counter hurt as it came slamming into his back. Dean barely had time to react before he found himself backed up against the sink with Castiel’s face a mere inch from his own; the angel’s body pressed flush against his, trapping him like a vice against the edge of the counter. 

Hot breath beat against his lips, stirring the already persistent erection building below his waistline. Castiel’s eyes were flashing lightning against his, the so carefully maintained self-control he had been displaying earlier slowly cracking and tearing along the edges like white-hot electricity. Dangerous, and in every possible sense of the word, lethal.

“You didn’t  _ realize, _ ” he hissed, and Dean could feel the fingers in his shirt tighten. Yanking him forward, Cas pulled him even closer, and the jarring sound of a thousand furious feathers filled the confined space of the kitchen when his wings flared to the sides, violently enough to cast a shadow over the entire room.

“You think this is some kind of game?” Castiel whispered tightly, the question more of a growl than words. “That this is meant to be  _ amusing _ to you?” 

Dean didn’t know what to answer; he couldn’t even bring himself to meet the angel’s gaze. It was too dangerous, being close like this, and he wasn’t sure that he’d be able to stop his body from acting on all the things those blue eyes made him want to do, should he face them. 

Castiel might be somewhat of a looker normally—even Dean was able to admit that much—but right now, like this…? If he hadn’t been questioning his sexuality already, the energy; the pure  _ force _ radiating off of the other’s skin would surely be enough to make him start. 

So instead of engaging in one of their normal staring contests, Dean let his eyes drop to the poorly bandaged hand that gripped at the front of his t-shirt, pouring all of his self control into keeping his eyes locked on the slowly growing blossom of red that had begun to spread through the rough fabric. Castiel was leaning in even closer, heavy breathing lapping against Dean’s neck as the other growled against the shell of his ear, snapping the words out like a dog trying to keep itself from biting.

“I allowed you to glimpse the mental and physical strains this put on me before, Dean,” Castiel growled. “You should be aware, that were I to attempt the same action now, it would rip your fragile human mind to pieces.”

Dean’s heart was pounding in his chest so hard he was positive that the other must be able to hear it. His pulse was like thunder in his ears and he was painfully aware of the way Castiel’s voice had grown shallow and ragged in just the brief time they had been standing so close, the angel’s words burning hot as they were thrown out against his skin. 

He swallowed hard, careful not to let his tongue swipe out to moisten his dry lips; remembering clearly how quickly such a simple gesture had been capable of taking situations like this from bad to worse in less than a second in the past. 

“Alright, I get it,” he breathed. “Cas. I’m sorry, okay? I didn’t mean to be disrespectful or anything.” 

Castiel’s eyes narrowed at him, and it took all the self control Dean had to raise his own eyes and fasten them on the angel’s blue ones. 

“I know that you’re doing all of this for my sake and here I am, acting like a complete asshole about it.” He pointed to the bloodstained hand that was still tightly clutched against his chest.

“But you’re hurt, and you’re bleeding all over the place, so… Just… let me look at it, okay…? Please?”

He made very sure to let the last word come out as a question, seeing as he really wasn’t in a situation to be making any demands at the moment. Tension hung heavy in the air and time almost seemed to come to a complete halt around them both before Castiel’s shoulders slowly sunk, the hostility of his posture faltering.

The fingers in Dean’s clothes unfurled, releasing their grip, but Dean didn’t dare move yet. Not until after what felt like an eternity, when Castiel finally released a deep, tightly held breath and stepped back, allowing Dean to move away from the counter, which Dean did; vigilantly, like a mouse moving away from a cat.

“You should probably sit down,” he suggested, motioning towards one of the kitchen chairs. Castiel threw the chair a suspicious look; as if he didn’t really trust it, but then he obediently moved back and sat down, his eyes following Dean’s every step as the human walked over to the cupboard where Bobby kept his first aid kit. 

Dean could feel the heat of the gaze prickle the back of his neck like needles, fully aware of how that sensation was not caused by the blunt, quizzical gaze that Cas normally directed his way. These were the same predatory eyes that Dean had seen that morning three days ago, and right now they scared him more than any impending threat of an angelic smiting ever could. 

He pulled out disinfectants, needle and thread from the first aid kit and sat down by the table—on the opposite side from Castiel, mind you—and gestured for the angel to give him his hand. Castiel hesitated, eyes regarding the outstretched limb with the same distrust as he had the chair moments ago, but then he slowly placed his hand in front of Dean and allowed the human to carefully unwrap the cloth from around the wound. Dean tried to give him a little encouraging smile, dropping the stained kitchen towel next to him on the table.

“Alright, let’s see what we’re dealing with here…” 

He grabbed Castiel’s hand, but immediately released it again when the angel let out a startled groan, fisting the old tablecloth with his free hand.

“Jesus!” Dean flinched. “Shit, I’m sorry! Fuck, I didn’t think it would hurt like—” 

He realized the very moment the words left his mouth, that pain probably had absolutely nothing to do with the other’s reaction. Castiel shook his head, lips pressed into a thin line and eyes clenched shut, breath coming out in short bursts through his nose.

“Just get it over with,” he grated, and Dean instantly felt a blush creep its way up his neck. 

So that’s how far things had gone now? The grace had actually driven Cas to the point where a simple touch between hands had become the equivalent of Dean—  

He coughed, trying to shake away the fine tremble the unfinished thought had brought to his hands. Then he reached across the table, hesitation forcing him to stop inches away from the other’s skin.

“You sure you can handle it?” he asked carefully.

“Only if you hurry up.” Thin slits of blue opened up to glare at him from underneath thick eyelashes, and Dean sucked in a deep breath, averting his eyes.

“Alright…” He cleared his throat again, feeling cold sweat beading along the collar of his shirt. “Now this is probably gonna hurt like a bitch, but...”

He held out the threaded, curved needle for Castiel to see, and the angel nodded, showing that he understood. Dean swallowed once more, trying his best to ignore the sudden, electrical tension that had settled over the room.

“Here we go then…”

He gently took hold of the angel’s hand, but even though he made sure that the grip was light and tender this time, a low hiss still escaped the angel’s lips at the touch. 

“It’s okay,” Dean tried. “I’ll be done before you know it.”

Cas nodded again, his breathing growing shallow as he sharply turned his head away from the sight of Dean’s hands on his body.

Dean quickly flipped the hand over so that the palm was facing the ceiling, lowering the needle to make the first stitch, but then stopped to stare in confusion at the blood smeared flesh in front of him. Castiel tensed, feeling his hesitation, but he didn’t turn his head around.

“What’s wrong?” he groaned, but Dean simply lowered the hand back down onto the table and released it.

“I—I’m not… I think you should probably see this for yourself…” 

Castiel blinked his eyes open, shooting him a confused look from the corner of his eye. Dean nodded towards the limb and Castiel retracted it, holding it up in front of his face, eyes widening. 

The wound in his palm had stopped bleeding and was slowly, slowly—almost slow enough to be invisible to the naked eye—closing up. Skin weaved over the gaping slice and soon there was only a faint, pink scar where the once deep cut had been.  As the two of them watched, even the scar eventually faded into nothing, leaving only a smooth patch of skin behind. Dean leaned over the tabletop, staring down at the hand as Castiel slowly flexed his fingers, as if in awe.

“Son of a bitch...” he breathed, and then he let out a low, disbelieving chuckle. Castiel looked at the now completely healed hand in front of him, repeatedly clenching and unclenching his fist, as if the motion was something brand new. 

He said nothing.

 

/\/\/\/\/\/\

 

On the sixth day, Dean made a mistake.

He had been wrestling with the exhaust system of an old Buick for most of the day and when he got back inside, he was covered head to toe with oil, sweat, and various grime that itched his skin, making him feel anything but fresh. 

His mistake was the decision to grab a quick shower before dinner. Not that showering was a mistake in itself, of course not—keeping after one’s personal hygiene was never a bad thing. The  _ mistake _ had been what he had done  _ during _ the shower.

It had been a natural reaction, really. There had been a very insistent, very loud voice in the back of his head for almost a week now, pleading and begging for him to take the matter of his unattended sexual urges into own hands; quite literally. So far, Dean had done his best not to indulge in such activities, not knowing if doing so would somehow break the agreement he and Cas had made about the whole chastity thing. He could have asked, of course, but even Dean realized that walking up to Castiel, in the angel’s current state, and blatantly asking him if he would mind it if Dean touched himself, wouldn’t have been such a good idea.

However, keeping his hands to himself was slowly becoming increasingly difficult. Willing down his morning wood each morning took longer and longer, the urge to rub himself against the sheets strong enough to risk clouding his sleep drunken judgement. 

It was only a matter of time before they’d both wake up from another one of those wierd-ass grace dreams again, and then all of this past week’s struggle would be for nothing.

The most sensible thing would be to just jerk off and get it over with. Quick and easy, it wouldn’t have to take longer than two minutes, tops. Fuck, with all the frustration roaring through his body at the moment, Dean suspected that it might even take less than that.

The water of the shower was warm, his hands rubbing soap over his body soothing… He could feel his erection as it began to swell between his legs, begging for attention. It had to be okay, right? If he got himself off quickly. It’s not as if he had drag it out…?

The mental bond between him and Castiel had not made itself known for several days, and considering the way Castiel’s body now had begun to heal on its own, everything pointed to the fact that things were as good as normal again.

If the connection was gone, then there was no reasonable way that Cas would ever find out if Dean indulged himself, just this once. Just a few strokes to get him by, to make the situation easier for them to cope with. To take the edge off… Surely that wouldn’t be a problem?

When Dean reached down to wrap his fingers around his hardened flesh, he was not expecting the situation that was soon to follow.

The first couple of strokes went fine; his lips falling open in a silent gasp at the familiar feeling of the calloused palm moving against his skin. However, when he let the pad of his thumb move up to gently swipe over the velvet skin on the head of his cock, something sharp and forceful panged low in his gut, making him choke on his own breath with a sensation akin to pain. 

He grappled for the wall to steady himself, his vision swimming in and out of focus as he struggled to breathe, the feeling rippling through his nerves and causing his knees to buckle. He had just managed to peer his eye back open when he heard a deafening crash coming from downstairs.

“Cas?!” he croaked, scrambling to get the shower curtains out of the way. He stumbled out of the shower, his legs giving out beneath him and forcing him down on one knee; the only thing keeping him steady being the bone-crushing grip he had managed to land on the edge of the sink. 

Forcing himself up again, he tore a towel from the hanger and wrapped it haphazardly around his waist, stumbling out of the bathroom before he had even gotten the thing tied properly. Panic rushed through his blood in burning hot waves as he hurried down the stairs, risking life and limb by descending them three steps at a time. 

He found Cas, slumped down on all fours in the study, shaking and breathing harshly through his teeth. His eyes were clamped shut, black wings thrashing wildly, sending books and scrolls flying from the nearby shelves onto the floor with sharp thuds and bangs. Castiel looked as if he was in pain, back arching and feathers quivering with the sounds of a million rattlesnakes, and his fingers were digging into the worn old carpet underneath him, clawing at the surface as if an invisible force was trying to drag him away. The sight of those hands; the way they bent and curled against the mat with such agonized desperation, was one of the scariest fucking things Dean had seen in his entire life. 

The first things that went through Dean’s mind at the sight—before he even had time to think about what was going on and get his initial,  _ instinctive _ reaction under control—was that he had to  _ do _ something! 

The rug left vicious burns on both his knees when he came crashing down next to the angel on the floor. His lungs felt as if they were being crushed by an invisible iron band around his chest, rendering his breathing into short, wheezing gasps, but he could focus on that later. Right now, the only concern in his head was making sure that Castiel was alright, his shaking hands already reaching out to grapple at the convulsing body before him.

“Cas?! Cas, are you okay?!”

“No!” Castiel’s eyes widened in horror when Dean’s arms wrapped around him, silken feathers slotting up against Dean’s naked skin. “No, Dean, don’t touch—!”

But it was already too late. Every muscle in Dean’s body locked up in seizure when the grace inside Castiel’s vessel broke free and crashed into his system, filling him up and dragging him down in sizzling currents of pure ecstasy. 

Castiel’s voice came drifting towards him from somewhere on his right, but if there were any words in there, then Dean wasn’t capable of making them out. His eyes were blinded and his ears thundered with the sound of his own racing heartbeats, the sudden pressure against the inside of his skull making him feel as if his head was about to explode. 

He was screaming—he had to be with the way his throat was aching—but he couldn’t hear any of it. His fingers clenched hard around the fabric of Castiel’s shirt as he hung on for dear life, the rush of blue-tinted white behind his eyes burning through his existence like a lit match through parchment. 

His body was falling. Falling and falling, and he was still screaming as the dark closed in on him; his last coherent thought being a distant observation on how much the velvet night filling up his vision reminded him about the sight of inky, black feathers.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading, guys <3  
> I'll see you all next Thursday! :)


	10. 10

It was raining. 

He knew it was, because he could hear the steady patter of water trickling against glass coming from somewhere to his left. It was dark too, but when he finally managed to squint his eyes open, the murky light in the dusk room was still more than bright enough to make them sting painfully, making sharp, burning tears prickle his vision. 

There was fabric rubbing against his arms, his legs, his chest, and even though he knew that it was supposed to feel soft and pliant, he found that it felt like being scrubbed down with sandpaper laced with needles whenever he tried to move. 

The pain surged a wave of panic through his system and his body tensed up instinctively against the prospects of possible danger; his brain struggling desperately to figure out where he was, and how many he would have to fight. When his blurry vision drifted up towards the old, battered shape of the headboard above his head, however, the panic melted away, as he realized that he was lying flat on his back, tucked safely underneath the covers of the big bed in Bobby’s guest room.

His head had been reduced to a slow, throbbing hurt, and every muscle in his body was aching as if he had been worked over by a maniac with a sledgehammer.

What the hell happened to him…? 

He closed his eyes against the offensive light and groaned, but even that small strain on his vocal chords felt like getting barbed wire dragged up his throat. The sudden pain made him cough and choke, causing fire to explode all the way down to his lungs. Dear God, why did everything  _ hurt  _ so much?

A memory, hazy and obscured, flashed through his brain, and suddenly he remembered. A flurry of dark wings, a panicked cry, and— 

_ Cas! _

He opened his mouth to call out the name, but there was no sound; his voice was broken and useless. Ignoring the new stab of pain the fabric sent through his body as he forced his tired muscles to move, he began gathering the strength that would allow him to pull the covers away and sit up. Then he felt the steady pressure of a cool palm against his forehead and he stilled against the pillow, gasping for breath.

“I’m here, Dean.”

Dean tried to open his eyes anew at the sound of Castiel’s voice, but it was just so  _ bright _ . Everything hurt and he shook his head, biting back a whimper, hoping that the other would understand; that he would make it  _ stop _ . 

“Breathe,” the angel ordered gently and Dean choked out another strangled breath, struggling to get the fire in his throat under control. He felt Castiel’s hand cradle the back of his head, nudging it up, and then something hard and cool pressing against his lips. 

“Drink.” 

It took a few disoriented seconds for him to realize that the object was a glass, and he greedily latched on to the brim and drank its contents down. He relished in the way the cold water trickled between his lips, quenching a thirst he had not even been aware of having as it washed down the fire in his throat with each gulp. 

“Jesus Christ…!” he rasped out, once all the liquid was gone. If Castiel disapproved of his blasphemous choice of words, he didn’t show it. He simply pried the glass away from Dean’s mouth and refilled it from a glass pitcher standing on the bedside table, before handing it back for Dean to gulp down.

It took four more rounds before Dean finally relaxed against the beddings, his thirst momentarily quenched as Castiel put both the pitcher and the glass back down. Dean’s head was still pounding like crazy, but his vision was growing steadier by the minute, and his voice seemed to have returned, even though it was weak and throaty, as if he hadn’t used it for a month. 

It reminded him all too well of the time he had woken up to the murky insides of a wooden coffin, the air dry and stale; his body filled with the same throbbing ache as the one he felt now. The memory made him shudder.  

“Jesus…” he groaned again, adjusting his posture, barely managing to stifle a hiss when the hair on his legs and arms rubbed against the covers. Every nerve in his body zinged with static tension and it made him feel as if he had just gone five rounds against a Taser and lost.

“You should stay still,” Castiel advised him quietly. “Your limbs are still recovering from the shock.” 

“Shock?” Dean stilled, taking the helpful hint, although still confused. “What shock?” 

Castiel’s eyes flickered to the floor, and that’s when Dean’s brain slowly began to notice that something was different. 

Castiel was sitting in the same room as him, talking to him. Touching him. Yet Dean couldn’t see any signs of nervous fidgeting or ruffling feathers whatsoever. The angel was once again wearing his trench coat, along with his usual white dress shirt and blue tie, but together with the mournful expression on Castiel’s face, they were not at all the reassuring image of stability that Dean had hoped they would be.

“Cas…?” he croaked, a horrible feeling of dread clasping around his chest. “What happened?”

Castiel bit down on his lower lip, worrying it with his teeth. The fingers of his right hand dug into the material of the trench coat’s left sleeve, as if the touch of it was the only thing keeping him anchored to his seat, or even more so the room in itself. 

That tight clutch of fingers scared Dean beyond senseless. 

His heart was pounding, and his hands had begun to tremble as he canted his head, seeking out the angel’s eyes. His worry did not ease up when instead of meeting Dean’s gaze, Castiel ducked his head away in avoidance.

“You have been… violated.” Castiel’s voice was filled with shame, the sound of it taking Dean by surprise. Thousands of graphic images immediately rushed his dazed brain at the words; naked skin, lips, hands. His thoughts must have showed on his face, because Castiel immediately shook his head, an almost mournful tone to his voice.

“Not like that, Dean. I’m not talking about your body.” 

Again, Dean tried to make eye contact, but for the second time, those blue eyes avoided his in favor of shooting towards the floor. Castiel took a deep breath, as if bracing himself for what he was about to say, and Dean found himself holding his own in wait for the words to come.  

“It’s… your soul,” Castiel ground out quietly. 

“My soul?”

Castiel abruptly stood up from the chair he had been sitting on. Dean felt light tremors of panic surge through his chest when the angel started pacing back and forth by the edge of the bed, a gesture so completely un-angelic it made Dean want to scream at him to stop.

“You were right,” Castiel suddenly blurted out, still moving, worn dress shoes trudging against the faded carpet. “There was no use in trying to fight it. It was a proud and selfish thing of me to think otherwise, and now you’re hurting because of me.”

Dean tried to keep up with the words spilling from the other’s mouth, but his head was still working on half speed, leaving him spinning in their wake.

“Hold on, man, what the hell are you talking about?” He winced as he tried to sit up higher onto the bed. “What  _ happened? _ ”

Castiel stopped and grabbed hold of the footboard with whitening knuckles. His voice was low and raspy when he spoke.

“The power grew too strong,” he began grimly. “I thought I could keep it contained, but… when you grabbed hold of me in the living room, I— It was too sudden. I didn’t have time to prepare myself. My grace broke loose and ravished your soul, taking the remaining grace you held by force, leaving it… broken.”

The wooden board beneath the angel’s fingers creaked as Castiel tightened his grip around it.

“I violated you in the worst way possible,” he grated. “It was inexcusable.”

“Dude…” Dean began, but he couldn’t think of what more to say. 

Clearly, the thing that had happened to him was something serious, but even though Dean had now been told what it was, he still didn’t understand what it  _ meant. _ Or why the angel was so upset about it. 

To be honest, even if his body hurt, it was still far from the worst pain Dean had experienced in his life, and his soul didn’t exactly feel any  _ different _ . Castiel, however, intercepted whatever question he might have had on the subject by speaking anew.

“You’ve been asleep for almost four days,” he mumbled, still not looking at him. “I’ve tried to make it as comfortable for you as I could, but your body is still overly sensitized. You will find that any discomfort you’re feeling at the moment will all go away in due time.”

Dean frowned.

“What do you mean ‘in due time’? If you took all the grace from me, doesn’t that mean that you’re back to normal again? Why can’t you just mojo the pain away?”

Castiel flinched, wings drawing tight around his body as he shook his head resolutely.

“I’ve done everything that I can. Healing grace-related injuries is not easy, even when they’ve been skilfully executed. What I did to you— Healing a soul after something like that is like piecing back a jigsaw puzzle that’s been thrown into a wood chipper. I’m sorry…”

Dean’s eyes widened.

“Well you must have done one heck of a job then,” he whistled, carefully lifting the bedspread that covered him to look down upon his body, almost expecting to see the cracks of his soul like scars on his skin.

He abruptly choked on his own breath when he found himself completely stark naked underneath the sheets, with the only exception of his black boxers. Even though he was eternally grateful for  _ that, _ he couldn’t fight the furious blush that instantly crept up his cheeks. Castiel had  _ undressed _ him, for fuck’s sake! 

“I take it this means the, uh… cravings are gone, huh?” he croaked. 

Castiel seemed to hesitate for a moment, but then he nodded, and Dean fell back against the pillows with a sigh, not even bothering with pulling the covers back up over himself. Cas seemed too busy staring at his own feet to care, which meant that things indeed appeared to have gone back to normal again. 

Somehow, Dean wasn’t quite sure how he felt about that…

“So…” He swallowed, carefully clearing his throat. “What happens now, exactly?”

Castiel straightened up, releasing his stranglehold of the footboard.

“Once my powers are adequate enough, I will return to heaven. There, I will be able to heal properly and regain my strength.” He swallowed hard, catching the sudden frown on Dean’s face. “Once both you and Sam have been fully restored, of course.”

Dean didn’t like the thought of Castiel leaving, not so soon. It was ridiculous really, because since when had Castiel not been coming and going, whooshing in and out of the world’s many planes of existence, just as he pleased? 

Still, for some reason Dean couldn’t bring himself to admit his disapproval out loud, so instead he just sunk deeper into the beddings, trying to fight back the bitter taste the angel’s announcement had left in the back of his throat.

“So you’re still not fit for flying?” he asked, crossing his arms over his chest in a completely non-sulking way, thank you very much.

“Not yet, no,” Castiel answered quietly.

“Right… So how long will I have to stay in here?” Dean gestured to the bed with his chin.

“It shouldn’t take long,” Castiel assured him, his eyes still spending more time regarding the bedspread by Dean’s feet rather than Dean himself. 

“To be honest, I was afraid that your soul would recess into the same state as when I first found you in the Pit. Luckily, it seems as if though you’ve managed to recover faster than I anticipated. Despite the subjection of my… hazardous decisions...” 

Dean frowned, not liking the condescending tone Castiel was using about himself, or the way the angel was hiding his face from him. 

There was a shadow there, lingering over Castiel’s eyes. Obscuring the light that had been Dean’s one solid point of refuge, ever since he got topside, and he  _ did not like it _ . Cas looked as if he knew that Dean was about to ask him a question he didn’t want to answer, and right now Dean  _ really _ wanted answers.

“You should rest.” Castiel abruptly turned and headed towards the door. “There’s still a few days left until the lunar eclipse; you should be back on your feet by then.” His voice was short and professional. All  _ business _ . Dean hated it with every aching fibre of his body.

“Never been much for the hospital treatment. I’ll probably be up in a few hours,” Dean grumbled out, hearing the words bounce against the uncomfortable tension that had lowered itself between them; the silence slowly eating him up from the inside.

Castiel just looked at him and Dean rolled his eyes.

“Cas, I’m  _ fine _ . Seriously.”

Castiel nodded, but there was no light in his eyes when he answered.

“I know you are.”

He then turned and walked out the room, closing the door silently behind him.

 

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\

 

Castiel’s odd behaviour left a deep, gnawing feeling on the inside of Dean’s chest, but in spite of it, Dean still managed to sleep through the entire day. He didn’t wake up until late next morning; the sky outside his window still gray and depressing, but there was no rain, which was a relief. 

He sat up on the bed, feeling eternally grateful when the sheets didn’t send prickling needles of pain all over his skin. Leisurely, he swung his legs over the edge of the mattress and put his weight on them. Then, he promptly smacked his head against the floorboards with a less-than-manly yelp when his knees buckled and gave out from underneath him. 

Apparently his body wasn’t done healing just yet. Go figure.

Climbing back into bed took him about half an hour, because he downright  _ refused  _ to call out for Cas to help him. He’d rather pull a muscle than suffer the humiliation of letting the angel see him like this; half naked and grunting, hanging on to the frame of the bed like some kind of hairless sloth.

His arms trembled, his lungs heaved, and a furious sweat broke out all over his body, but he somehow managed to claw himself back up. Soon enough, he was lying on his back in the middle of the mattress, gulping down breath like a drowning man, but with a new sense of restored accomplishment pounding in his chest.

Castiel came in to check on him around lunchtime. He was still acting strangely uptight and professional. He refused to let Dean leave the room, and in spite of Dean’s spluttered assurances that he was feeling perfectly alright, Castiel still insisted on serving him lunch in bed. 

He didn’t stick around long enough to even see Dean lift the fork from the tray – the door clicking shut behind him so fast it almost left Dean feeling offended.

Dean tried to get the other’s attention, but without succeeding. Establishing eye contact was downright impossible, seeing as Castiel had now gone back to  _ not _ looking at him full time. Dean was certain that even if he spontaneously sprouted himself a pair of pink, frilly bunny ears, Castiel still wouldn’t hinge as much as an eyebrow in response.

It didn’t take much to figure out that Castiel was feeling devastatingly guilty about Dean’s situation. Of course, Dean could easily have described the memory of pains a thousand times worse than that of his current state, but for some reason he didn’t think that would have made a difference. It seemed as if the thing that really bothered Castiel was not the consequences of the angel’s action, but the action in itself. 

It was as if the intrusion his grace had made on Dean’s soul rendered him unworthy of the human’s presence; even less his affections. Every time Dean smiled or made a joke, Castiel looked as if he was going to fall into pieces of pure shame, and whenever Dean brought  _ that _ up, Castiel responded by immediately leaving the room; knowing damn well that the hunter couldn’t follow.

Dean didn’t get it. Or, he  _ got it _ , but he just didn’t  _ get it _ .

Castiel obviously believed that he had done something indescribably awful towards Dean—and maybe he had, Dean didn’t really have enough knowledge of the situation to determine that—but since releasing the grace hadn’t been a conscious choice, Dean sure as hell wasn’t going to  _ blame _ the guy for it. 

During his hours of solitude, he tried to think back on the occurred event; tried to remember this horrible violation the angel presumably had done, but all he could recall was  _ grace _ and warm,  _ pulsating _ light. For some reason, that memory always brought on a resilient hard on, causing the covers to tent almost rudely below his waistline. 

It was a bit embarrassing, he wasn’t going to pretend as if it wasn’t, but at the same time it also got him thinking. If  _ that _ was his reaction to the memory of the presumed violation, how could it possibly have been as bad as Castiel made it out to be?

He tried to ask Cas about it, but he never got very far before Castiel changed the subject or simply walked out on him, everything executed in the same hollow demeanour as always. It left Dean torn between wanting to punch the angel in the face or kiss the living daylights out of him; in his frustration he couldn’t decide which one was more tempting at the moment.

The thought entered his mind seemingly on pure reflex; as if kissing Castiel was a perfectly acceptable way of dealing with his frustration. Then again, when he thought about it, maybe it was? Not that it mattered much, of course; as long as Castiel refused to even stay in the same room as him, the prospects of them actually kissing were even lower. He would have to find a way to get past Castiel’s obsessive communication barrier first, before he could even address  _ that  _ topic…  

Of course, doing that was easier said than done. While Dean’s legs took their sweet time contemplating whether they were going to start working anytime soon, Castiel made sure that Dean was kept too busy to start up a conversation. 

He showered Dean in various scrolls and books to read up on in preparation for the ritual that would turn Sam back to his old self, telling him to study them carefully. Dean was asked to write a list of suggestions for locations that would be optimal for them to perform the ritual act, based on the information he could find in the previously mentioned scrolls. 

Meanwhile, Cas only stayed around long enough to leave him regular and unscrupulous reports on Sam’s welfare, including how much he ate and how many hours he had slept.

Dean saw through it all, of course. Even though Dean appreciated the regular reports, he knew that Sam was doing just fine. There was no way that Castiel would ever let anything happen to him, and regarding the preparations for the ritual, they were basically standard issue. 

The spell was easy; just plain old Latin, and Dean knew that Castiel was perfectly aware that the moon would shine just as brightly on the front of Bobby’s yard as it would on the back, rendering the location of the ritual more or less irrelevant. 

It was all just a poorly constructed strategy to keep Dean distracted enough not to bring up the subject of  _ them. _ It was also rather disturbing, considering that Castiel was considered to be one of Heaven’s most profound strategic geniuses. The fact that the angel’s intentions were so obvious was like physical proof that Castiel wasn’t thinking straight; too worried about whatever it was he didn’t want Dean to find out to even put enough effort into his plan.

Dean didn’t understand it, and it was making him testy.

The weather, of course, was doing nothing to encourage the situation. The rain had come to stay and whether it was pouring down or just drizzling from the sky, it painted every day in the same unenthusiastic gray color as it had the day before. 

The hours passed excruciatingly slowly, the tedious passing from dawn to dusk taking forever, and Dean was itching to get up and out of this godforsaken bed as quickly as he possibly could. 

He felt restless, and even though Cas had given him access to Bobby’s crappy old TV, there was still a limit to how many hours Dean could drone away in front of Spanish soap operas and still keep his sanity. 

Yet, his lack of entertainment was not the worst part – not by a long shot. 

Ever since he had first woken up, he had been smothered by a foreboding sensation that something was  _ not right _ . It was like a black pit inside his chest; this dark, clenching  _ nothing _ , reaching through his mind with spidery fingers. Looking, searching, as if trying to remind him of something he had forgotten. Something that he had  _ lost. _ No matter how hard he tried to ignore it, it just kept growing stronger, turning increasingly insistent with every passing breath. He just couldn’t shake it, and it was slowly driving him insane!

The morning his legs finally managed to carry him all the way to the door felt like a blessing, and the day after that, he was fully capable of walking around the whole of the house without support. 

From that point on, his resolve became more focused than ever, because now Castiel could not hide from their conversations by simply walking away, and Dean was relentless in his mission to get the angel to  _ talk _ to him.

“I still don’t understand what the big deal is?!” Dean hollered after him as the angel took his usual refuge to the kitchen, Dean following close on his heels like a resilient—though very wobbly—bloodhound. 

“Why won't you talk to me?” he demanded, stopping in the doorway with his arms crossed over his chest, forming what he thought was a very convincing display of unfaltering will. Castiel did not look very impressed, as if he could physically see the amount of energy it took for Dean to even keep himself upright. Dean was good enough to walk, sure, but there was no real strength in his muscles, not yet.

“There is no reason for us to talk, Dean,” Castiel answered with a sigh. Dean scowled at the other’s tone; it sounded so stale and battered; as if the angel was tired of literally everything and everyone. 

Dean hated it.

“Like hell there isn’t,” he growled. “You’re hiding something and I want to know what it is. And don’t even start with the crappy excuses because they won’t work,” he added when Cas opened his mouth to retort. “You can’t even _look_ at me anymore and you _always_ _look at me_.”

Castiel’s eyes flickered towards him for a split second, embarrassment flashing beneath the guilt-ridden stare before averting to the floor once more. 

“Indeed. And see where that’s brought us,” he muttered, making Dean choke out a disbelieving sound from the back of his throat.

“Oh, no, you don’t get to take the blame for this, you pretentious ass,” he snarled. “We made this mess  _ together, _ and if anyone should take responsibility for what your grace did, it should be me. You told me to back off and I didn’t listen.”

“I should have known better,” the angel insisted. “The bond between us—”

“Oh, would you just shut up about the fucking bond already?” Dean snapped, and Castiel’s brow furled together as if he had just been insulted with a word he didn’t understand. Dean resisted the violent urge to pull his own hair out in frustration.

“It doesn’t  _ matte _ r, don’t you get it?” he continued heatedly. “There is no blame here, why can’t you get that through your thick skull?”

“You don’t understand,” Castiel whispered hoarsely, turning his back on him.

“Don’t you dare turn this into one of your ‘holier than thou’ speeches, Cas,” Dean spat. “I know you, and this has nothing to do with me not being  _ able  _ to understand. It’s about the fact that you’re terrified that I  _ will _ .”

Castiel’s shoulders tensed and his wings drew in tight; evident signs that Dean was spot on.

“Why can’t you just let this go?” Dean asked, softening his voice a little; turning the accusation into an honest question. “Just look at me, man. I’m up! Walking and talking. It’s not as if my injuries were even that bad to begin with.”

The glare Castiel sent him over his shoulder at that could have made an entire ocean freeze.

“That only proves how foolish you are,” he said grimly. “The amount of grace I forced onto your soul came within an inch of ending you. Just because it didn’t does not justify me letting that happen.”

“Screw your melodramatic bullshit, Cas,” Dean retorted acidly. “I got a few bruises and a headache, what the hell does that have to do with anyth—“

Cas whirled around, eyes flashing. Suddenly, pitch black wings were towering them both, filling up the air inside the small kitchen area like a physical manifestation of every dark omen ever conveyed by the Bible; onyx feathers shivering ominously.

“Your internal organs were  _ torn apart! _ ” the angel spat, the force with which the words were sent hurling towards him almost making Dean bite his own tongue. 

“When I came to, you were bleeding  _ everywhere! _ ” Castiel hissed. “Your spleen had ruptured, your stomach was torn to pieces, and your lungs had  _ exploded _ inside your chest! There was not a single bone left unbroken in your body and—” Castiel’s voice thickened and choked, as if the mere memory of Dean’s former state was too painful to even linger upon, even less put in words. 

“I did what I could,” he grated out. “I put you together once before; I figured I could do it again, and  _ I did _ , Dean. I cleansed the blood from these walls and put it back inside your body. I built you a new heart, grew you a new pair of lungs… I mended your bones while cradling your soul against me, just to— To keep you  _ here _ .” 

Dean stared at him, the full meaning of what the angel was telling him slowly sinking in, and the realization sent icy cold fingers skirting up his spine.

“I was dead…” he whispered, but Castiel shook his head.

“It was, as I believe you humans call it, a touch and go situation,” he muttered.

Dean let out a choked breath, but then his brain abruptly snapped back into gear.

“How much did it cost you?” he demanded and his hands fisted by his sides when the angel looked away in response. 

“Cas,” he gritted. “ _ How. Much _ ?”

“Less than I would have been willing to give,” Castiel retorted sternly. Dean could have punched his face in right there.

“So that’s why you’re not able to go back to Heaven yet?” he asked. “Because you drained yourself trying to save me? God dammit, Cas, you could’ve  _ died! _ ”

“I am not  _ drained _ .” Castiel cut him off. “I have more power now than I had a week ago, and it’s increasing even as we speak.”

“You seriously expect me to believe that?” Dean snorted. “If you’re not drained, then how come there’s no psychic pull between us anymore? If you healed me like you say you did, then there should be grace left inside me, just like last time.” 

He leaned off the doorframe, sauntering closer with a defiant glare at the angel in front of him.

“That means that you should be itching to shove me up against the wall and tear my clothes off right about now, but obviously you’re not. Which makes me think that you’re bluffing. I think that there’s just enough grace left in you for you to keep your wings intact, but that’s probably all there is.”

“Dean—”

“No!” Dean interrupted. “I’m done with this crap, Cas! If your mojo is on the low rise then how come can’t I feel it?”

“Because this time I did it  _ right! _ ”

Just like that, it was as if someone had turned on the lights in a pitch-dark room, and Dean  _ got it. _

That gnawing feeling that had been eating him up from the inside out ever since he opened his eyes in Bobby’s guest room… It was so clear, so  _ evident, _ and the realization of what it meant felt like a stab to the heart.

Dean could not feel the strain of their bond anymore, because the bond was  _ gone _ .

He stared at Castiel, and for the first time since he woke up he understood why the angel was not able to look at him. The bond was severed. The link that had tied Dean to Castiel since the moment the seraph had first laid hand on him in The Pit was not there anymore. Suddenly, Dean felt like he was going to throw up. 

“No…” he whispered, shaking his head slowly.

“It had to be done,” Castiel mumbled. “The bond put you in a danger that I could not protect you from. You’re better off without it. You’re free.”

Free? Dean tried to remember the word, what it used to mean, but came up with nothing. 

_ Free. _

The only thing that word meant right now was  _ hurt _ , and a betrayal far worse than anything he had ever experienced. How could Cas stand there and tell him that he was better off without it, when the loss made him feel as if he was slowly drowning inside his own body? 

“You stupid son of a bitch…” he breathed. “Why would you—”

He wanted to scream. Wanted to yell at the top of his lungs while he still had a voice to yell with. His fists were aching to hurt something; to crack bones and draw blood, because  _ why _ ?! 

The dark hole inside his chest was widening enough to stretch throughout his entire body, and he felt so empty, so cold and hollow, and he  _ didn’t understand _ .

“So you just…” He threw out his hand. “…took it away? Just like that?”

“I had to,” Cas mumbled.

“No, you didn’t!” Dean snarled. “Don’t you fucking  _ dare _ stand there and tell me that when you know it’s not true! You didn’t do it because you  _ had to _ ; you did it because it was  _ easy! _ ”

“I did it because it was  _ right _ .” Cas glared at him. “I almost got you killed because I was trying to keep something that wasn’t meant to be mine. I don’t regret severing the bond, I only wish that I’d had the strength do so the very moment you clawed yourself out of that grave in Illinois.” 

“But it was an  _ accident! _ ” Dean near whimpered with frustration. ”How can you possibly blame yourself for something you couldn’t control?”

At that, the angel’s eyes narrowed dangerously as Cas took a slow step forward, his wings billowing out behind him like storm clouds loaded with thunder.

“ _ You’re _ the one asking me this?” he hissed. “ _ You _ , who have taken the blame for  _ everything _ that’s gone wrong in your family since you were a mere child?  _ You _ , who would rather have stayed in the Pit, because you didn’t believe yourself  _ worthy _ of being saved?”

Dean’s mouth fell open with a disbelieving squawk. He couldn’t believe Castiel was using that against him. Not here, not  _ now _ .

“You son of a bitch…” he growled, but Castiel paid him no heed, using every ounce of the angelic appearance he now carried to stare the other man down and pin him to the doorframe. Dean’s mind made a violent backlash to the image of a barn, where blue flashes painted shadows of giant wings over the uneven surface of boarded up walls, and he gulped in spite of himself as Castiel leaned in on him with his teeth bared in a snarl.

“Even as I ripped the blade and tongs from your hands, you were trying to fight me off,” he bit out. “You screamed at me, cursed my name, and told me to turn back. To get out of your sight, because you were not coming; thoroughly convinced that the Pit was your  _ punishment _ —one that you believed yourself to have  _ earned _ .”

Castiel’s eyes fell on the handprint that peeked out from underneath the sleeve of Dean’s t-shirt. The hostility in his body fell away, his wings folding and drawing closer to his back as deft fingers came up to brush hesitantly against the worn fabric.

“But I did not listen…” he mumbled, voice suddenly lost in memory. “I grabbed you, and I tore you out while you screamed and clawed at me, demanding that I let you go. In order to get us out alive I was forced to pour my grace into your soul, lest your struggle endanger us both. I should have foreseen that such an act was bound to leave a mark...”

Dean fought down the itch he had to place a hand across the scarred tissue on his arm, for some reason reluctant to let Castiel touch it; as if the angel would be able to take that away too if he got the chance. 

He did not remember any of the things Cas was telling him, and even if he were to think of them as untrue; how could he possibly argue against something he could not even remember? 

He waited, holding his breath, and when Castiel spoke next the angel’s voice was low and filled with such self-loathing it left a sour taste in the air. 

“So you see,” Castiel rasped, and the hand that had been toying with the hem of Dean’s shirt pulled away as if it had been burnt. “I knew about the bond we shared long before this happened. I’ve always been able to feel my grace inside you, but I’ve done nothing to change it, even when knowing the risks it could bring. I wanted to keep you. I wanted others to  _ see _ what I had accomplished. I wanted you  _ marked _ , Dean Winchester, and because of that pride, I ended up risking your life for my own selfish desires.”

“You’re taking this far too seriously, Cas,” Dean warned, trying to ignore the contradicting mix of flattery and indignant objectification the other’s words stirred inside him. “You were following orders. You did what you had to do in order to get me out and even if you took a few liberties with it, you couldn’t know that this would happen. This is not your fault.”

Castiel’s eyes snapped up to his.

“You tipped the scale that started the apocalypse,” he pointed out mercilessly. “You neither were aware of the course your actions made the world take, but that has never stopped you from trying to carry the weight of it on your shoulders. What makes my mistake any different?”

“You can’t possibly draw a parallel between this and what I did,” Dean objected grimly, fighting to keep his voice steady as he spoke.

“And why is that?” Cas tilted his head in challenge and Dean’s anger flared up like a bonfire.

“Why?” he spat incredulously. “Because it was the  _ apocalypse! _ It was the  _ end _ of the goddamn  _ world! _ ” 

“Yes!” Cas snarled back. “And what,  _ exactly _ , do you think you are to me?”

Dean’s jaw shut with a mute click of teeth only to fall open once more when he tried, in vain, to come up with an answer. Castiel was glaring at him, watching him struggle to voice a response, and then, between one blink and the next, he disappeared.

Dean was left alone, staring at the kitchen sink in disbelief with the whooshing sound of wings ringing in his ears. A movement in the corner of his eye caught his attention and he hurried to the window, seeing Castiel stride away from the house with long, angry steps. He was heading towards the tree line surrounding the west side of the premises; his trench coat flapping angrily behind him while his wings stayed defensively curled against his back. 

Dean watched him go, finally allowing his hand to shoot up to fit against the brand he carried on his arm, feeling his chest tighten in pain when the usual tingle that had always been there in response never came; the touch of his skin cold and hollow beneath the palm of his hand.

 

/\/\/\/\/\/\

 

Castiel didn’t visit the guest room for the remainder of the day, but when Dean went out to the kitchen in order to make himself some dinner, there was already a platter with food sitting prepared for him on the kitchen table. 

Dean wasn’t sure if he wanted to eat it or hurl it into the wall, but eventually his stomach won over his emotions. He scooped up the plate and skulked back to his room, noting with a twinge of sorrow in his gut that neither Castiel nor Sam was anywhere in sight.

He didn’t bother checking the rest of the house after them. Wherever they were, Castiel was more than capable of keeping Sam safe, and they couldn’t have gone that far anyway. 

The little teleportation stunt Cas had pulled in the kitchen might have been short distance, but it had probably cost him a lot more juice than the angel had planned. He had been upset and had most likely acted on reflex, that old habit of avoidance taking control before he realized what he was doing. Dean knew nothing about the energy it took to teleport with the Speed of Angel, and as far as he knew, that little trick could have drained Cas back to zero all over again. 

It made Dean grit his teeth just thinking about it. In his opinion, the saying “stubborn as a mule” should be changed into “stubborn as an angel”, because dammit, he had never met anyone as hard headed in his  _ life!  _

He still didn’t want to believe that Cas had done what he claimed to have done, but the vacant space screaming inside his soul was impossible to argue against. The bond was gone; disintegrated and scattered to God knows where. The loss was like an itch, making him want crawl out of his own skin and set himself on fire, because while on fire he would at least be able to feel  _ something _ . 

Right now, all his emotions were being sucked down this draining black hole, leaving only anger, frustration, loss and helplessness behind, and he wanted it  _ gone _ .

He just wanted things to go back to normal again. Back to the time where he could tell a poor ass joke that Cas wouldn’t understand, and then Dean would try to explain it, failing horribly, and Cas would look at him as if he was staring into his very soul… Back when they could just stand there and have an entire conversation play out between them in the span of just a few seconds, because that’s how they were  _ supposed to work _ , damnit. All that was gone now and he felt crippled, like a marathon runner who’d just lost both his legs, and he simply didn’t know what to do.

His sleep that night was riddled with nightmares. Images of the cold, harsh planes of Hell swam through his dreams; the blood soaked restraints of the Rack and the evil shine of fire as it reflected upon steel and bones clear inside his head. The screams and the smoke, dark, dark tunnels, and constricting shadows that could choke you with a thought circling his mind. 

The familiar images were all ripped into pieces when something brighter than the core of the sun itself crashed into his vision. Dean could feel the heat and hear the sizzle of burning flesh as it mixed with the sounds of demons being torn to shreds around him, and then a hand closed around his upper arm, pulling him up, the light blinding his eyes in pure silver.

He woke up with a strangled scream catching in the back of his throat. The dream evaporated the moment his eyes opened, but he could feel the familiar fear ripple through his skin when he sat up in the bed, blinking back the lingering white spots in front of his eyes.

He had not dreamt of Hell in a very long time, but the memories the dreams provoked were enough to bring it all back again. He felt his stomach twist, leaving him to fight back the overwhelming reflex to hurl as he bent over and rested his head in his hands, heaving and gulping down air into his lungs.

Digging the heel of his hands into his eyes, he groaned silently, waiting for the last fleeting glimpses of his dream to shrivel up and disappear from his mind. His sheets were drenched and clung to his body in soaked patches when he moved, his chest burning as his body went through the usual post-Hell-nightmare motions.

He reached out to the side, fumbling for the glass and pitcher on the bedside table, only to frown when he found the spot empty. Groaning, he remembered that he had left them both in the kitchen earlier that day, before he and Cas had their little spat. He didn’t really look forward to going out and getting them, but he needed water, or his throat was going to burn up. 

His knees wobbled beneath him as he crawled out of bed, heading for the door. His stomach made a violent flip on his way over, making him swallow down a grunt, but when his hand landed on the handle he stilled, ears perking intently.

The familiar sound of Castiel’s voice came floating in through the solid wood, soft and mysterious like Avalon mist. It was a soothing sound, and it made Dean stop dead in his tracks, instinctively wanting to hear more of it. As Dean listened, the angel’s voice dipped and rose in a slow, smooth pattern, and he realized with a sense of pride that Cas was singing to Sam again. 

He tried to remember the melody from that time at the motel, but he quickly concluded that it was another song this time. Instead of the calm, loving tune from before, it was now a sad melody that conjured images of vast shorelines by the sea before Dean’s inner vision.

He saw rain-swollen clouds weighing down over waves rolling against the barren sand, driven forward by a hollow wind that sang of solitude, loss and regret. Of mourning and a love for the great planes of the ocean that was now forever lost. It was a melody that made Dean’s heart ache and he didn’t realize that there were tears in his eyes until the singing stopped and one of them slowly began trailing down his cheek.

_ He sang to you, _ his subconscious suddenly whispered and the awestruck pang that went off in his gut at the thought sent him slumping heavily against the door. 

_ For days and days, in the middle of all that fire and ice. Amongst the blood and the pain, he sang to you.  _

He couldn’t remember it all; the memories of his journey out of the Pit were locked away in some dark corner of his soul that he wasn’t sure he would be able to handle being unlocked, but he knew that it was true. 

There had been no words back then, not like the song he had just heard, but there had been a melody. A tune, a  _ feeling, _ that had wound itself through everything that he was. Cas had sung to him as he held him tight, the song building until it shone bright like a star between them, and then—

His hand clasped around his shoulder like a vice and he winced. The memory sent lights flashing behind his eyes and he sank down to his knees, sliding his body against the doorframe for support, because his legs simply wouldn’t carry him. 

Images of Bobby’s living room swam before his vision, the ragged old carpet standing out in such clarity that he could have counted every single thread in it. Castiel’s wings were wrapped around him, the smooth silk fluttering against his naked skin, and there had been such warmth, such love, and Dean had wanted it so badly.

He had pleaded and begged, and Cas had been right  _ there _ , at the edge of his mind as Dean opened up for him. He had reached for it,  _ offered _ himself and Cas had touched him; just the faintest brush, and then Dean’s soul had literally soared as he had suddenly felt  _ everything _ . 

It had been the same fire, the same pulsating light, and the same heat, only a thousand times more. He had felt everything that was Castiel; from the overwhelming celestial creature shaped to follow and obey that resided within the human form before him, to the individual, independent angel that Dean had come to care for with such intensity. 

Then that had all been washed away in a flood of panic and fear; a horrible sense of irrevocability that had made Dean’s heart stop in his chest. The door had been slammed shut in his face and everything had gone dark as Castiel ripped away from him, and then there had been only  _ pain _ .

He opened his eyes, gasping as if had just come out of a pool of ice-cold water. His nails dug into the skin of his left shoulder to the point of breaking skin and he  _ remembered _ . 

It wasn’t the grace that had brought Dean to the brink of death that day. It had been Cas. 

Not intentionally, of course; the angel had not even been aware of what was going to happen, but it had been him nonetheless. 

When Cas pulled away from him, in the midst of the panic and the confusion, something had snapped. The channel through which they communicated had torn wide open, Castiel’s fear of whatever it was that had been about to happen burning it to a crisp just to prevent it.

The action had been intentional, but the result of it had not. Like accidentally hitting someone in the face when they’ve snuck up behind you to scare you, only a billion times worse.

Feeling the Grace as it was ripped out of his soul had been bad enough, Castiel had not been lying about how that would feel, but the rest… Even in Hell, to subject someone to that kind of anguish would have been considered ruthless.

Dean did not even wish to imagine the horror to which the angel must have opened his eyes, realizing that the mangled sight of Dean’s body lying before him was  _ his _ doing.

He closed his eyes, willing his pounding heart to slow down, the ghost of Castiel’s voice whispering inside his head.

_ The bond put you in a danger that I could not protect you from. _

_ You’re better off without it. You’re free. _

“Cas, you stupid son of a bitch…” he hissed, gritting his teeth as he struggled to get up from the floor, his legs wobbly beneath his weight. He stumbled back to the bed where he collapsed onto the cold, clammy sheets, covering his eyes with his hands as the scene played out inside his head, over and over and over. With each time, it all became so much clearer, and so much more confusing all at once.

Dean had offered himself up. He had wanted whatever it was that Cas had been about to give him, and Cas had wanted it too, but… then the angel had gotten scared.

What in the world had made him panic so? It wasn’t as if Dean didn’t already know about how Cas felt about him; one would think that he would be glad to find that Dean felt the same, finally, after all this time. Freaking out about it just didn’t seem right. 

Behind his ribcage, his heart made a particularly hard thump inside his chest; like it always did whenever he thought about…  _ that _ . 

His feelings for Cas.

It had taken a lot of time and it had not been anywhere  _ near _ easy. Even now, just thinking the words made his gut draw together tight, causing his heart to do this weird skip-jump-stumble-faceplant thing inside his chest.

It wasn’t an unpleasant feeling, but it was… weird. Not to mention completely out of his element. 

During the long hours he had been hospitalized in Bobby’s guest bed, he had been given plenty of time to talk things out with himself. Once he had managed to shove all his usual crap back into the deepest corner of his mind and boarded that shit up, things had been surprisingly clear. 

The whole grace scenario had started it, yeah, he could roll with that, but the grace was gone now. There was nothing supernatural or otherworldly that tied Dean to the angel anymore and still,  _ still _ , he couldn’t get the son of a bitch out of his head. 

His heart  _ still _ grew cold to the thought of Castiel leaving and never coming back. His chest  _ clenched _ at the thought of the angel being angry with him, and his head practically  _ reeled _ from the thought of long slender finger roaming his body. The idea of having Castiel there with him, in the dead of night when all the lights were out, when Dean was burying his moans into the soft texture of his pillow; for once not even trying to pretend that the body starring inside his private fantasy wasn’t male… 

It was new and terrifying, of course it was, but he could no longer argue with himself over the fact that he  _ liked _ having Castiel’s breath come out in ragged chokes against his neck. That he  _ liked _ having his own dick ride the ridge of the other’s thigh, and that he  _ absolutely _ liked the feeling of the other’s tongue inside his mouth.

Just as much as he liked the way Castiel could smile with his eyes without even quirking his lip, they way one could never be sure if he was telling a joke, or if he was being completely serious. The way his tie never hung the way it should, or the puppy dog eyes he could pull that made Sam’s look like a frickin’ amateur’s… And maybe, just maybe, there was still time to make a few things right in this chaos they had been pulled into. 

Castiel had appropriately formed the metaphor himself; Dean meant the world to him, and Dean had already brought on the oncoming destruction of one of those before – he did not intend to make the same mistake twice.  

It was, however, abundantly clear that Cas was not going to come anywhere near him until it was time to perform Sam’s ritual, which meant that if he wanted to make things right, he would have to initiate contact himself. So that’s why the next morning, two days before the eclipse, Dean walked out of the guestroom and strode through the house with long steps, his mind determinately set, and with a whole new level of resolve settled firmly in his chest. 

This game was ending.

Right the fuck now.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know, I know, I did it again ;___;  
> I'm sorry don't hate me, it will be worth the wait, I promise <3
> 
> Next chapter coming on Thursday, as per usual. Until then, stay safe and take care of yourselves, okay?  
> Love you all!


	11. 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ladies, Gentlemen and Every Variety Thereof and Beyond.  
> I believe this is the moment you've all been waiting for... ;)

That morning, the rising sun was hidden behind a thick curtain of purple storm clouds. Gathered at the horizon, they tinted the world in an eerie, violet hue, mixed with rays of red and gold that washed over the rugged old floorboards of Bobby’s study. It was quiet, even for a morning, but as Dean entered the living room, he could hear the faint rumble of thunder rolling in from the distance.

Ignoring the ominous sign, he noted that Sam’s crib was still empty, but that didn’t worry him much. Barefoot, he padded out into the hallway without even bothering to look in the direction of the kitchen, knowing without seeing that Castiel wasn’t in there.

The door to the porch out back was open and it didn’t surprise Dean one bit to find the angel sitting out there in one of Bobby’s rickety old wooden chairs, gazing out over the early morning scenery. There was a delicate crispness in the air that sent a pleasurable shiver up Dean’s spine as he soundlessly stepped outside, and even though his body was tense with anxiety, he had to admit that the outdoor atmosphere still felt strangely rejuvenating.

Sam was perched on his hands and knees on a big blanket on the porch floor, a few feet over. Swaying back and forth, it looked as if he was preparing to launch himself forward like a rocket at any given moment, all the while with a huge, enthusiastic grin plastered all over his face.

“Good morning,” Dean greeted casually, at which Castiel sharply turned his head to stare at him with a look that verged on the borders of panic.

“You shouldn’t be up,” he rasped, but Dean ignored him in favor of turning his attention to his brother.

“Hiya, Sammy.” He bent down, feeling Castiel’s eyes drill into the back of his head as he exaggerated his display of cheerfulness by rubbing the top of Sam’s head fondly. Listening intently, he waited for Castiel to say something more, but when nothing came, he resolutely straightened back up again.

Walking over, he pulled up another chair from the nearby wall and placed it next to the angel’s, taking a seat.

“Slept well?” he asked, attempting to make conversation, even though he noticed the way Castiel’s body tensed up at their sudden proximity.

“No.”

Alright, so maybe he hadn’t expected such a short answer.

“Why, what’s wrong?” he asked, earning himself a quick, sideways glance from the other man in return. For a brief moment, Dean could see the panicked flutter in the other’s eyes give way to annoyance.

“Nothing’s _wrong_. I simply don’t require sleep anymore.”

“Oh. Right.”

Dean had completely forgotten that the ordinary, healthy Castiel wasn’t held back by such trivial, _human_ things as _sleep_. The less than week old memory of the angel, snoring atop the kitchen table, suddenly felt like something fetched out of a wayward dream.

“I guess that means that you’re feeling better then?” he asked warily, knowing that a Castiel who didn’t need sleep was bound to be leaving soon.

“Yes.”

Dean glanced back at the two feather-clad limbs sticking out over the back of the angel’s chair.

“What about those?” he said, nodding towards them. “You’re planning on ditching them soon too?”

“Eventually,” Castiel said flatly, still staring intently into the distance. “For the moment, it’s more comfortable for me to keep them like this.”

“I guess that makes sense,” Dean agreed amicably, nodding to himself. If Castiel still didn’t feel comfortable enough to undo his wings yet, then he might not be strong enough to mojo his way out of the conversation Dean was planning to engage them in either.

Still looking at the wings, he licked his lips, steeling himself.  

“It really would be a shame to get rid of them too soon…”

Reaching back, he let his hand stroke down the large quills of the angel’s right wing, as if it was the most natural thing to do in the world. The reaction was instantaneous; Castiel nearly jumping out of his seat as his eyes fluttered shut, his grip around the armrests tightening enough to cause the wood beneath his fingers to creak loudly.

“Yeah… It’d be a real shame…” Dean repeated quietly, his fingers combing through the black feathers one final time before letting go.

“So, the cravings are gone, huh?” he asked with only a hint of steel in his voice, allowing Castiel the luxury of collecting himself before answering.

“The ones caused by grace, yes.” Castiel was still aiming for dry and professional, but the ragged tone of his voice gave his composure away.

“I see…” Dean hummed. He could see from the corner of his eye how Castiel’s feathers twitched, the large wings rising above the angel’s head in curious response to Dean’s voice.

“I take it that’s just another reason why you’ve been avoiding me,” he assumed out loud, and to his left, Castiel’s breath hitched.

“I haven’t been avoiding—” he started, but Dean cut him off.

“Seriously, Cas?” he groaned, giving the angel an incredulous look. “We both know that’s exactly what you’ve been doing. I’m not stupid. I know you’re only still here because you’re not able to flap your ass back to Heaven yet.”

Anger snuck into his voice as he spoke, but he quickly willed it down.

“Didn’t it occur to you that I might actually want you to stay close?” he asked, softer.

Castiel didn’t answer. For a split second, his eyes flashed towards Dean, but then they stubbornly locked onto the tree line in front of them again. After a few seconds of continued silence, Dean leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees with a tired sigh.

“I know what you did, Cas,” he said, and next to him the angel flinched, closing his eyes.

“It took me a while… but I remembered what happened.” Dean looked down on his fingers where they were laced in between his knees. “You almost got me killed,” he continued calmly. “Now, I know that it was an accident and that you didn’t mean to do it, but what I don’t understand is _why_ you did it.”

“Dean—”

“No.” Dean straightened up, turning towards Castiel with a glare. “I will only ask you this one more time, Cas,” he warned. “ _What_ . _Happened_ ? You panicked over something, and since I’m the one who almost had to throw in the towel over it, I think I’m entitled to know what it was. So _spill_.”

Castiel let out a low, wounded sound, his feathers drooping low behind his back, drawing in tight to his body. His face was pained as he sent Dean one final, pleading look, but when Dean only continued to glare, he seemed to realize that the battle was lost.

“When we—” He cut himself off, clearing his throat as he turned to stare down at his own feet. “When angels perform what you humans refer to as ‘mating’… or ‘marriage’…”

For a moment, his voice seemed to catch on to the syllables of the words, as if they were too foreign and oddly shaped to fit his tongue correctly.

“To our kind, those actions are basically viewed as one and the same, though they carry a significance far greater than any human interaction ever could. The vows you humans give each other during a wedding ceremony are, at best, nothing but poor attempts to mimic the process we go through. It’s a wordless connection between two entities; not a ceremony involving grand speeches, jewelleries or witnesses.”

He swallowed, his throat and jaw flexing tightly as his eyes flickered towards Dean.

“It’s a merging of graces,” he said. “An incredibly rare connection, allowing two angels to become part of a whole, and it’s… irrevocable.”

Dean licked his lips, contemplating the information while Castiel stared straight ahead, awaiting his response.

“So… angel marriage?” Dean asked slowly. Castiel nodded and Dean let out a long, grounding sigh, before deciding to just go with the explanation, no matter how wacky it sounded.

“So what does that have to do with me?” he probed, and Castiel’s eyes turned towards him, sad and mournful.

“You really don’t know?” he asked quietly.

It took him a few ticks, but then Dean’s eyes widened, the steady pounding of his heart suddenly amping up as realization hit.

“So that thing in the living room…? When I…? You’re saying that was—”

“Your soul attempting to merge with my grace, yes.”

How the angel could possibly say that with such detachment was something Dean would probably never be able to figure out.

“Okay, now, hold on.” He turned in his seat, his legs awkwardly angled towards Castiel’s as they pressed into the hard wood of the chair’s armrest. “You’re telling me I was trying to _marry_ you? That’s what freaked you out?”

Cas sighed ruefully and closed his eyes.

“Stop using human words to define that which not even angels have bothered to find a vocabulary for. It’s not a marriage; it’s a _bond_. It’s different for everyone. And yes…” he added, voice fading slightly. “That’s why I… freaked out.”

“Because you didn’t want to.” Dean said it slowly, something hard and heavy curling around the insides of his chest.

Man, Dean understood how something like that could have caused the angel to panic the way he had, but he hadn’t expected the truth behind the rejection to actually _hurt_. Not like this, at least.

He didn’t blame the guy; getting ambushed by a proposal could throw anyone off their game. It wasn’t as if the thought of a marriage, bond, whatever, didn’t freak him out slightly, but… at the same time, he knew that if there ever was someone who’d be able to stand something like that with _him_ , then Cas would be that person.

The revelation that such a future was something the angel did not only see as unwelcomed, but also as something worth panicking over, _hurt_ , more than Dean would have ever anticipated. He hung his head down, picking at his nails, trying to swallow the rejection down with as much dignity as he could muster.

He hadn’t expected this. Fuck, he’d been so sure that Cas would—

“I never said that,” Castiel objected quietly, interrupting his line of thought, and Dean blinked.

“What?” he said, confusion making it hard for his brain to follow.

“I never said that I didn’t want it,” Castiel repeated and Dean realized that the other was referring to Dean’s own assumed statement from before. Pinching the bridge of his nose, he bent his head down, trying to sort the scrambled thoughts inside his head out.

“Alright, but if you wanted it and…” He licked his lips, swallowing once hard, “…my soul wanted it too, then what was the big hold up all about? Why did you rip the bond apart the way you did? I _know you_ , Cas, and you have more self control than that.”

Castiel’s shoulders squared defensively.

“I told you weeks ago that keeping you safe was a task I chose to undertake on my own. The bond clouded my judgment and put you in danger, so I removed it. As I would have any other threat,” he added grimly.

“Goddamn it, Cas…” Dean groaned, burying his face in his hands. “Why the hell didn’t you just tell me about this angel-marriage deal from the start? We’ve talked about the how’s and why’s so many times and you never— For God’s sake, we could have avoided all this!”  

“There was no need for you know. The damage had been done,” Castiel said flatly, and Dean’s mind shifted from reasoning to anger in half a second flat.

“So you just _decided_?” he asked with a frigid chill to his voice, his jaw setting defiantly. “Again?”

“Yes, I _decided_ ,” Castiel threw back, making Dean grit his teeth.

“Well, that was a fucking stupid thing of you to do,” he bit out, but Castiel just sighed, shaking his head.

“Then what would you rather have had me do, Dean?” he asked, sounding bored and apathetic, and Dean threw his hands out to the side.

“Geez, I don’t know Cas. How about asking me about what _I_ wanted first, maybe?”

Castiel looked at him, for a moment seemingly taken aback by Dean’s answer, but then he sighed again, as if the prospect of Dean’s approval was nothing but a cruel taunt.

“What you wanted wouldn’t have made a difference,” he muttered.

“And why the hell not?”

“Because the bond we have—” He cut himself off, closing his eyes in resignation. “ _Had_ ,” he corrected, “was complicated. You don’t have grace, you have a human soul. A merging between the two would not have worked the same way as one between two angels. My grace would have consumed your soul and then you would have been tied to me for eternity, and you would not want that, Dean.” Castiel opened his eyes again and looked at him, regret and pain swimming just below the surface. “You might think that you do, but you don’t.”

“Who the hell are you to tell me what I do and do not want?” Dean growled. “I’m a grown ass man, Cas; I can make these decisions for myself.”

“Not _this_ _one_ ,” Castiel hissed. “It’s an _eternity_ , Dean. Your mind has no concept of how long that is, _we_ barely have that. Even after your death, your soul would be tied to me until the end of all time.”

“And that would be wrong _how_ exactly?” Dean questioned, and at that, Castiel actually snarled at him.

“Have you not been paying attention?” he demanded. “I would _enslave_ you; _shackle_ you to me! You would be bound and restrained for the rest of your life; the very same fate you taught me to fight with everything that I am, and I almost—”

Castiel abruptly stood up from his chair, undoubtedly to leave, but Dean was quicker, having anticipated just that. His hand lashed out as he stood up as well, strong fingers wrapping around the base of Castiel’s right wing in an unyielding grip, forcing the other to a halt.

Castiel gasped, knees buckling momentarily when Dean pulled him back to spin him around, Dean’s free hand fisting the lapel of the angel’s trench coat. Dean wasn’t sure if holding onto Castiel’s wings or clothes would hinder the angel from taking off like he had before, or if he would automatically take Dean with him if he tried, but Dean was not letting go. Travelling by Angel Airways would without a doubt make him throw up on his own goddamn shoes later, but he wasn’t about to let Cas get away that easily.

“Listen,” he snapped, “I don’t _care_ what you think you were _about_ to do to me. You hear me? I _don’t care_.”

He pulled back, searching for the words.

“So you screwed up,” he winced, “alright, who hasn’t? I know things didn’t go as you thought they would, but I’m _fine_ . Okay? We’re both _fine_ and I’m sick and tired of watching you blame yourself for something that you had no control over.”

“Dean—” Castiel’s wing twisted to get away, but Dean tightened his grip around it, reducing the angel’s protest into a series of nearly inaudible moans. It was a dirty trick, Dean knew that, but at the moment he had no interest in playing by the rules.

“What happened to me was _not_ your fault,” he growled. “I almost died, again, because I don’t listen when people tell me to back off, and you saved me, _again._ So this self loathing crap you’ve got going on _stops_ , right now, do you understand?”

“Dean, please…!” Castiel’s voice tore. “I forced myself onto you… I almost— Dean, I nearly _raped_ you!” He spat it out, as if the word had left a foul taste of shame and disgust in his mouth.  

“You did _not!_ ” Dean yelled, his anger rising when the angel had the nerve to close his eyes and turn his face away from him. His hand fisted in Castiel’s collar and pulled him closer, bringing Dean to level with Castiel’s averted eyes.

“You wanna know what the last thing I felt was?” he hissed, knowing that what he was about to say next would be the first inevitable step towards a confession, but he didn’t care. Whatever fears he’d had about this didn’t matter anymore.

“I felt your grace bleed together with my soul,” he gritted. “And I’ll be damned if that wasn’t the best goddamn feeling I’ve ever had in my entire life. You didn’t violate me Cas, _I_ _let you in._ ”

There was a tiny sound, like a low whine in the back of Castiel’s throat, and something softened inside Dean’s chest. Castiel looked downright terrified.

“So don’t you dare pull away from me now,” he whispered, almost inaudible. “Don’t you even dare do that, because I need you here with me, Cas, whether you believe it or not…”

He licked his lips, hesitating only for a moment before he slowly released his grip of Castiel’s wing. Moving the hand fisted in the other’s collar, he gently brushed it past the angel’s bared throat to splay his fingers against a stubbled jaw.

Castiel’s eyelids fluttered as Dean’s thumb stroked across his chin, but they didn’t open. Then, the softest of sighs whispered past the angel’s lips as he slumped his shoulders, leaning into Dean’s touch as if it was his own, personal salvation.

“You worry too much…” Dean whispered. For a split second, he wasn’t sure if he was talking to himself or to the angel in his arms, but then he shrugged the thought away as he closed the distance between them, slotting his lips against Castiel’s pink ones with a determined hum.

God, he had been so _stupid_ . To think that after all this time, all it had taken was for Castiel to distance himself from him to make Dean realize just how much he wanted—no, how much he _needed_ —this!

Castiel let out a breathy whimper against his mouth and black feathers were suddenly everywhere as the wings on the angel’s back rose high around them both, trembling eagerly.

Dean felt as if he was going to catch fire from the inside out. It felt terrifyingly like being touched by grace, except that this fire was entirely his own, filling him with an intensity that fried every circuit in his brain because of the pure notion that it was _his_.

He opened his mouth and groaned, moving his tongue to run tentatively against the seam of Castiel’s lips. Castiel gasped at the touch, his hands shooting up to grip at the collar of Dean’s t-shirt, before pulling the taller man closer with a moan that made white spots flash in front of Dean’s closed eyes.

Their tongues tangled, wet and messy, teeth knocking together, and Dean was sure that he was going to combust into flames at any given second, but he _didn’t want to stop._ This was _Cas_ and he was _kissing_ him; actually, really _kissing him,_ and he wanted them to keep doing that until he couldn’t even stand anymore.

Unfortunately, he was still human, and humans needed to breathe. Too soon, Dean was forced to release Castiel’s lips, giving off an almost obscenely loud pop as he pulled back, noticing with a not so modest sense of pride that the angel was, once again, panting hard with his eyelids shut.

“Hey…” Dean groaned, no longer capable of talking normally as he tipped Castiel’s face up, using the light grip he still held around the other’s jaw. Slowly, two slits of vibrant blue opened up to look back at him, dazed and hazy in the morning light.

“Do you love me?”

It struck Dean the moment the words left his mouth, that he had never actually heard Cas _say it_ . He had _felt_ it; that warm affection that had flowed in and around him all those times when Castiel’s grace had wrapped around his soul. He remembered how it had filled him to the brim with liquid light until he threatened to overflow with it, but he had never _heard_ it.

Apparently, Castiel had just realized the same thing, because his eyes suddenly widened as his lips parted in a silent gasp that made Dean’s very toes curl.

Still, Dean let the question hang in the air, allowing the seconds to tick by, one by one, the time passing between them to the point where Dean almost though the angel wouldn’t answer. Then it came; a whisper so quiet that he surely would have missed it, had they not been standing so close.

“I love you…”

Dean released a breath that he hadn’t even been aware of holding, feeling as if an entire mountain had been raised from his shoulders. Before he knew it, he was kissing the angel again, this time causing Castiel to groan out loud when he moved in to delve his tongue into the angel’s mouth.

Castiel loved him, and he was here—right here and right now—and Dean would be damned if he was ever going to let go of him ever again. He wanted to pull Castiel closer, wanted to soak in his presence in every possible way he could think of, but there was still one more thing they needed to settle. Just one more thing that they had to set right.

“I want it back, Cas,” he growled, nipping at the angel’s lower lip, hearing from the way the angel’s breath hitched that Cas knew exactly what he was talking about.

“I don’t care if I have to argue with you for the rest of my life, but I want it back. I _need_ it back, do you understand me?”

“Dean—” Castiel tried to speak, but whatever he was about to say got lost between their lips as Dean pushed in for another kiss; Castiel’s words swallowed up by the hot press of Dean’s tongue, turning them into a whimper.

“Damn it, Cas…” Dean breathed, “I need it. I need _you_.”

His hand moved up to card through the black strands of Castiel’s hair, making the other moan.

“Give it back to me…” he panted, feeling Castiel’s body shake against his when Castiel’s breath hitched anew, the hands that had been clutching Dean’s collar trembling as they slowly released their hold. Fingers fumbled over his sleeves, momentarily searching for solace over the broad span of his shoulders, before the one on the left suddenly dipped under the hem to latch over the hand print residing on his upper arm.

Dean’s knees almost buckled underneath his weight, his consciousness flooding over with emotions that were not his own the very moment Castiel’s fingers latched onto his skin. His body felt as if it was on fire. Silvery blue flames of grace licked along the edges of his soul as the bond exploded to life between them once more, humming and singing in euphoria that made his head swim.

Castiel’s voice was resounding within the walls of his mind, whispering rambled apologies and pleading for forgiveness. Dean was not sure how he did it, but somehow he managed to smother the voice with an instinctive shift of his mind, drowning the guilt ridden grace pouring into him with his own lust, desires and—oh god— love. Yes, _love,_ that’s what it was, and he shoved it through the bond with everything that he had, relishing in the way Castiel gasped against his mouth and then groaned breathlessly when the thoughts travelled through the restored link.

“Fuck…” Dean breathed, tearing himself away from the kiss to latch his lips onto the angel’s pulse, greedily moving his mouth down to suckle at his throat. Castiel’s fingers curled around his arms, seemingly holding on for dear life in a mix of possessive and helpless need.

When Dean moved up to suckle at a spot right below his ear, Castiel keened and shuddered, the tremble reverberating throughout Dean’s entire being as the restored bond made the pulse run hot in his body; making him feel complete and whole again.

He could sense Castiel’s grace skirt along the edges of his consciousness, and he reached out towards it, feeling Castiel hesitate. The hand that was currently not wound tight in Castiel’s hair instantly wrapped around the angel’s waist, pulling him closer.

“Stop it,” he growled. “I’ve already told you what I want, haven’t I?”

“It can’t be undone…” Castiel whispered. “If I do this, I’ll never be able to let you go again.”

“Good,” Dean nodded, and just like that, the mental door between them slammed shut as the grip around his arm disappeared. Instead, there were hands shoving against his chest, pushing him away. Dean opened his mouth, an objecting curse already resting on the tip of his tongue, but it died the moment he saw the look on Castiel’s face.

The angel was standing there, holding Dean off on less than an arm’s length. He still had his eyes closed, his chest heaving, wings shaking, and it was obvious that he was struggling to keep himself under control.

“Dean…” he rasped, his fingers twitching against the fabric of Dean’s shirt. “Are you _sure_ about this?”

It wasn’t a question. Not really, but Dean understood it nonetheless.

There was heat surging through the air between them, the desperation bleeding through in telltale spots in the way Castiel’s hands shook against the planes of his chest. Castiel was begging him to be serious; to not say things he didn’t mean, just because they felt right to say at the moment. There would be no going back. No way to reverse whatever would happen if they really decided to do this.

Dean was silent, looking at the angel in front of him while he counted the pros and cons inside his head; going over the arguments for what must have been the millionth time during the past week. He still had the choice to back down, to change his mind. They could wait, bring this up at a later date, take it slow, but what would the point in that be? Castiel wanted this, and the thought of putting this off sent cringes of discomfort coursing through Dean’s body.

Hadn’t they waited long enough already? Had they not been taking things slow, for as long as they could remember? He had turned this over inside his head so many times, and yet, he always managed to come back to the same old place. That no, Castiel was _his_. It was scary, and new, and sort of awkward still, but he wasn’t about to let something as stupid as sexual labels or past mistakes make him back down now.

“I’m gonna let you in on a secret here, Cas,” he said thickly, the hand that had been wrapped around the other’s waist rising to rest gently atop the hand splayed over his thundering heartbeat.

“And you better pay attention, because God help me, I don’t think I’ll be able to say this more than once.”

Castiel’s eyes fluttered open, regaining some of their focus, and Dean fought down the nervous twist his stomach made when he met their gaze.

“You are the most infuriating creature that I have ever met,” he stated slowly. “You’re stubborn as a mule and your vocabulary is a social disaster just waiting to happen. You always disappear in the middle of a conversation; you’re unable to understand the simplest of references, you have _no_ concept of common human behaviour, whatsoever, and I swear— _on my car_ —that you wouldn’t know a joke from an insult, even if it came along and punched you in the face.”

While he spoke, a frown slowly began to form on Castiel’s forehead. His head tilted to the side, as if asking Dean what kind of a fucked up secret this was if Dean thought it necessary for him to pay attention for something like _that_.

“You’re all of that,” Dean continued, blatantly ignoring the look, “but I wouldn’t want you any other way, because _I love you_ , you dumb son of a bitch. Angel quirks and all. I don’t care if you end up setting the whole damn world on fire, it still wouldn’t change that. Not ever.”

He rubbed his thumb against the back of Castiel’s hand while trying not to think about the way those alien blue eyes were now drilling into his, provoking heat to rise on his cheeks.

“So… That’s it,” he concluded firmly. “And that’s the first and only love confession I’ve ever told. You better remember it, ‘cause you’re not getting another one anytime soon.”  

Castiel looked at him, his face both serious and perplexed all at once, but his eyes were once again that sparkling shade of blue that Dean knew so well; the one that could wash all his worries away with a single glance.

Castiel licked his lips, slowly, and then he nodded, once.

“I’ll make sure to do that,” he promised.

The pressure against Dean’s chest eased up as Castiel slowly slid his free hand down to rest it shyly against Dean’s side, as if not sure if he was really allowed to. A timid pulse of light flickered in the corner of Dean’s mind, and Dean reached for it, pulling it closer at the same time as he wrapped his other hand around Castiel’s waist, mimicking the action with his body. Letting out something in between a moan and a snarl, he smothered the angel’s lips with his own, and the groan Castiel’s made at that sent volcano-hot heat spreading throughout his veins like a wildfire.

The kiss felt amazing, and Dean was just about to lose himself in it when a loud gurgle, followed by a delighted shriek, made his eyes snap open. Glancing over the wild, ragged comb of Castiel’s right wing, he saw his brother looking up at them with wide, innocent eyes, complete with a moronic grin plastered all over his face.

Ladies and Gentlemen; Sam Winchester - the world’s most efficient mood-killing cock-blocker of all time.

“Cas, hold on…” He grumbled into the kiss, pushing at the angel’s shoulders. “Hey, we’ve got an audience.”

He tried not to linger on the disappointed sound Castiel made as he pulled back, and Dean let his hand linger at the other’s fingertips as he moved away, before begrudgingly letting go of Cas completely.

Resolutely, he walked over to the baby lying on the blanket and lifted his brother up, nodding for Cas to follow him as he then walked back into the house. Castiel followed without a word, and was less than two steps behind Dean when the human entered the living room.

Dean carefully placed Sam in the crib, tucking him in while Sam continued to gurgle nonsense at the two of them, and once he was done, he turned towards Cas with a discreet cough.

“You got enough mojo left for one little spell?” he prompted. For a moment Castiel looked as if he was going to ask what he meant by that, but then he seemed to get the idea. Turning towards the crib, he extended a single, lone finger towards the gawking child and tapped it lightly against Sam’s forehead, causing the kid to fall asleep so fast he didn’t even have time to close his mouth.

“It’s good to have you back, Cas,” Dean grinned. In return, he received one of those nearly invisible smiles that only showed in the slightly curved corner of the angel’s mouth, along with the amused sparkle in his eyes.

It was a smile that made Dean’s lungs draw tight inside his chest, the insistent urge from the porch outside returning with full force. In a flash, he was pulling at the angel’s sleeve, leading him down the hallway and into the guestroom, closing the door firmly behind them.

When his eyes fell on the big, still unmade bed, however, something inside his gut twisted uncomfortably, nearly making him stop, mid-step. All of a sudden his hands felt clammy, and there was a lump in his throat that he couldn’t swallow down had his life depended on it.

Just like that, it was as if Dean Winchester had never had sex in his entire life. Hell, it was as if he hadn’t even watched porn! He just stood there, frozen in place without a clue about how to proceed. Was he supposed to say something? Should they undress? Should they lay down first and _then_ undress, or should they just keep standing for now?

He felt as if he was fifteen all over again, only this time it wasn’t Patty Simmons from Truman High School who was standing next to him, waiting for him to make a move, but a Goddamn Angel of The Lord. How the hell were you supposed to undress an _angel_ without making a complete fool out of yourself?

His hesitation was short lasted, however, because suddenly there was a hand on his arm, spinning him around, and he literally dissolved into Castiel’s mouth as the other pressed a heated kiss against his lips that could have rivalled the force of a hurricane.

Before he knew it, they were on the bed, and it turned out that it was more than easy to slide his hands up underneath Castiel’s stupid, oversized shirt; so _easy_ to drag it off along with that _stupid_ overcoat and suit jacket, and then fling the garments across the room without barely having to break apart. And it was so downright _simple_ to then let Cas do the same to Dean’s own clothes, and once those strong, slender fingers finally skimmed over the naked skin of Dean’s ribs, he couldn’t for the life of him figure out why he had tried to prevent this from happening for so long.

Castiel’s skin was warm beneath Dean’s hands and the hairs on his arms were rough where they rubbed against body. The stubble on his cheek and jaw prickled when they kissed, and everywhere Dean was used to smooth curves and satin skin, he was now met with sharp angles, firm muscles and a raw, electric force unlike anything he had ever felt before. And it was all good. It was all _right_.

In just a matter of minutes, Castiel was lying there beneath him on the bed, naked, hard and flushed, with spit slicked lips, wild, puffy wings, and a haze in his eyes that took Dean’s breath away.

Dean just sat there with his own jeans still buttoned, straddling the angel’s thighs while looking down upon the sight before him with his jaw dropped somewhere by his knees, because holy shit, Cas was beautiful. It was a very fancy word that didn’t get used much in Dean’s vocabulary, but right now he couldn’t think of anything better, should he even want to.

He sat there until a soft touch on the back of his hand startled him back to reality, and when he looked down in search of its origin, he saw that the feathers of Castiel’s left wing was caressing him slowly.

“Dean?”

He looked up and saw Castiel’s worried eyes looking back at him, and he shook his head.

“I’m fine, Cas,” he promised. “I’m— You’re just— Damn…”

His eyes slid lower, following the dip of Castiel’s torso down to his navel, tracing the fine line of hair that trailed down his abdomen, going further, until—  

He swallowed and licked his lips, his stomach clenching tight as his gaze came to a halt at the erection in front of him. The image was sharp and intensely clear; the red tint of the skin, the slightly curved shape, the course nest of dark hair at the base… the tell-tale shine of moisture at the tip…

His hand moved before his mind did, which was probably a good thing, because had he given himself time to think about what he was going to do, he would never have gotten around to actually doing it. His fingers curled around the length and squeezed lightly, just below the head, making Castiel’s back arch off the bed ever so slightly with a startled gasp that caught in the back of the angel’s throat.

Dean’s hand moved, Castiel’s reaction bringing forth a confidence he barely would have hoped to find, and if the strangled sound coming from the other’s mouth in response was anything to go on, he was doing a pretty damn good job. The weight of Castiel’s cock was warm and assuring in his grip, and his thumb moved expertly up and down the length, mimicking the various techniques he knew felt good when he performed them on himself.

Castiel was biting his lip to the point of breaking skin, his breath coming out in short gusts through his nose as Dean worked him, slowly and tenderly.

Dean simply couldn’t decide where to place his hands first. He only wanted to touch and watch Castiel come undone beneath that touch, to make him moan and whimper with his head tossed back, blue eyes screwed shut in the purest form of pleasure imaginable; the newfound power of the other’s body making him feel close to drunk.

He could feel the member pulse and twitch in his grasp, and had this been any other time, he would be taking mental notes of where the angel’s sweet spots were located for another time. At the moment, however, he was too focused on the task at hand to pay attention. His focus lay entirely on the way Cas was shaking and tensing, the way his hips had begun to thrust up into the tunnel of Dean’s fist, all the while with his eyes tightly shut. His throat was working to swallow down the various sounds Dean suspected the angel was trying to hold back, biting back his moans and gasps behind gritted teeth.

Nonetheless, when Dean swiped the pad of his thumb over the frenulum, just below the head of the cock in his hand, Castiel’s eyes flew open with a loud moan, and then Castiel’s hand was suddenly gripping around Dean’s wrist, forcing him to stop.

Dean felt the wing by his free hand slide up along his arm, skidding against the handprint that was raw and puffy on his skin as had it been pressed into his arm just minutes ago. He trembled when a low thrum reverbed throughout his body at the touch; a faint plea of _‘not yet’_ sounding in the back of his mind.

The second wing rose up and followed its twin on the other side of his body, ghosting the nape of Dean’s neck and making him shudder violently as they both moved down to press against his lower back. Then, without as much as warning, or even knowledge of how it happened, Dean was on his back with a naked angel hovering above him. He strongly suspected that Cas had used some of his slowly regaining mojo to his advantage to do that, because Dean Winchester simply didn’t get manhandled that easily.

Not that he was complaining, but still…

Castiel was on top of him, with oil shimmering wings flared out high above their heads. His chest was rising and falling with each breath, and his blue eyes had already blown into dark, inky orbs where they were gazing down at him from above. As Dean watched, Castiel raised a hand and slowly slid it down the front of Dean’s chest, fingers barely brushing against his skin, and fuck, Dean needed them to move this along like _yesterday_!

He looked up, catching Castiel’s gaze, and the love that met him from the depths of the angel’s eyes felt so raw it made his very heart ache. How had he possibly come to deserve something like this?

“You worry too much,” Castiel breathed, and damn, did his voice sound completely _fucked out…_

Dean opened his mouth to give a snarky comment on how Cas was using Dean’s own words against him, but he didn’t get far. The very thought of speaking got completely blown out of the water when Castiel’s hands abruptly descended onto his crotch, eager fingers fumbling with the buttons of his fly, and Dean swore he would never be able to breathe normally again.

He quickly concluded that it simply wasn’t _right_ for an angel to display such an eagerness to get into someone’s pants, and when one of the buttons to his jeans got popped with an angry sound of tearing fabric, he let out a startled, ‘hey!’ while sitting up sharply.

Wrapping one leg around Castiel’s knee, he rolled them both over, coming out on top once more in a flurry of dark feathers, glowering down at the male form below him.

“These are my favorite jeans, you ass,” he grumbled, grabbing hold of Castiel’s wrists and pinning them above the angel’s head—a move Castiel seemed to be enormously surprised by. Dean quirked a brow, a mischievous smile playing at the corner of his mouth.

“Still down to just human strength, huh, Cassie?” he teased, and Castiel frowned up at him.

“I would prefer it if you did not call me that,” he muttered and Dean laughed, leaning down to nip at the angel’s pouting lip.

“Then what should I call you instead?” he asked slyly. “Honey?” He lapped tentatively against the corner of Castiel’s mouth. “Sweetie?” he mumbled, moving down to find that soft spot just below the angel’s ear that he had discovered out on the porch, teasing it with his teeth until Castiel let out a trembling moan against his shoulder. “Or maybe I should just stick with _Cas-ti-el?_ ” he drawled, letting the syllables of the name drag out into a low, lazy growl, smirking when he felt Castiel’s hips snap up beneath him in response.

“Do you like it when I say your name like that?” he chuckled, finding the other’s reaction to be immensely pleasing.

“I like hearing your voice,” Castiel panted, and Dean would be willing to bet just about anything that the angel had his eyes closed again. For someone who stared so much normally, Cas sure didn’t seem to rely on sight much when it came to sex.

Dean grinned against Castiel’s neck and experimentally ground his hips down, relishing in the way Castiel’s breath hitched when the rough fabric of Dean’s jeans rubbed against his hard and naked skin.

“I can figure out a lot of things you’ll like even more,” he purred, for a moment ignoring how his heart was about to pound right out of his ribcage at the very thought of what those things might be. The fact that he was just as inexperienced at this as Castiel—or possibly even more—was something he preferred not to think about at all.

“I’m actually glad Bobby’s not home yet,” he admitted with a breathy chuckle. “It would be a shame if we had to waste your mojo on him too.”

“You’d be embarrassed if he knew what we were doing.”

Castiel’s voice sounded a bit offended, but Dean just snickered and nibbled at the lobe of his ear in reassurance.

“I think he would be the one most embarrassed actually…” he clarified. “What I meant was that I’m glad he’s not home, because I really wouldn’t wanna be disturbed by some cranky old man banging on the door, yelling at us to pipe it down.”

He released one of Castiel’s wrists, slowly sliding his fingers down the length of the arm, all the way down the side of the angel’s body. His thumb brushed against the peak of a hardened nipple, stopping to draw a lazy circle over the nub, and Castiel arched into the touch, his mouth falling open in a gasp. Dean took a moment to thank his lucky stars for that reaction, because nipples, yeah, he knew how those worked.

He quickly abandoned the angel’s neck with a final, lingering drag of his teeth against the soft skin above Castiel’s pulse, licking and nipping his way downwards.  Spreading kisses over his lover’s throat, clavicle and torso, his hand continued to move over Castiel’s chest, thumbing and rolling the right nipple in between his fingers. An experimental tweak made Cas flinch, but when Dean’s lips latched over and began to suckle on the left one, Cas dug his heels into the mattress with an appreciative groan.

His hips stuttered up, but Dean’s body remained just out of reach for friction, and Cas moaned again, a bit more desperate this time as his entire body jerked when Dean added a shallow drag of his teeth into the equation.

Dean snickered, lapping over the swollen bud in quick, shallow swipes that apparently were capable of taking even an angel’s breath away, before he moved further down, licking and kissing his way across Castiel’s ribs.

“I’m going to take my time with you, Cas,” he whispered against the other’s skin. “God, I feel like I’ve been waiting to do this for ages…” The hand that had been toying with Castiel’s nipple slid down and came to a rest just above the other’s hip.

“I’m going to map you out until I can recite every single inch of your body in my _sleep_ ,” he promised, making Castiel gulp down a ragged breath.

“I think… I would like that...” he panted and Dean let out a growl that would have been downright inappropriate had it been a different situation. Maybe it was the competitive side of him that made itself known, but just like that, he found himself dead set on the task of figuring out how to make the angel beneath him _squirm._ And he’d be damned if the best he’d be able to wring out was going to be an: ‘I would like that’.

He suddenly felt like cursing the fact that he was still wearing his jeans. Using one hand to prop himself up, he moved the other down to undo the last buttons of his fly, and then proceed to slither out of the offensive garment—muttering curses under his breath—before finally being able to fling both jeans and underwear off the bed with an annoyed flick of his ankle.

Castiel watched through his eyelashes as Dean made short work of his clothes, looking extremely content with what he saw. Before Dean had time to even settle back down properly between the other’s thighs once more, the angel sat up, grabbed him around the waist, dipped his head and Dean was dead. He had to be dead, because there was no way this was not his own, personal heaven right there, oh, God!

Castiel’s mouth was warm around his cock, his tongue playing over the head and down the vein beneath it in a way that was just _evil._ Dean soon found himself with one hand clutching at Castiel’s shoulder to steady himself and the other buried in dark wisps of hair, simply to keep himself from passing out. Castiel’s head bobbed up and down, taking him deeper and faster with each agonizing dip, and nope, no gag reflexes there, none whatsoever, and holy shit, holy, holy, holy _shit…!_

“Cas… Hold on, you’ve gotta— You have to stop, or I’m not— Cas…? Cas…!”

He yanked the angel up by the hair, hearing lips detach from skin with a wet, smacking sound. Dean quickly let his hand drop from the other’s shoulder to pinch around the base of his erection with a wounded whine that started somewhere deep down in his gut, barely managing to stifle the orgasm that was about to paint the angel’s face.

A single bead of pearly liquid rolled down the head of his cock and slowly dripped onto his finger, silent evidence on what a close call that had been. When Dean looked up to send the angel a reprimanding glare, he was only met with a barely-there smirk and a victorious glimmer in blue eyes.

Castiel’s hand snaked over his thigh and up, fingers gently folding over Dean’s wrist to lift it away. While Dean watched, Cas then brought the soiled hand up, and without warning licked a long, lazy stripe over the precome gathered there, before moving on to suckle on the digit with a confidence that definitely shouldn’t belong to a virgin angel!

Dean stared, open mouthed, as the tip of that pink tongue swiped out to curl along the length of his finger. Two seconds later, Cas found himself back on the bed, both hands caught and pressed into the pillow next to his head, with Dean’s face hovering above him with just faint rim of green around lust blown pupils.

Once Dean was sure that he had the angel’s full attention, he pressed the hands in his grasp even further into the pillow, moving his grip from around the wrists and up, guiding the angel’s own fingers to bend into the fabric.

“Don’t. Move,” he ordered sternly, his stomach flipping violently when something in Castiel’s eyes seemed to spark in response to the words. Sitting back up, he tried not to sound like a needy porn star when Castiel’s cock bobbed up to slide against his own length as he moved to perched himself higher on the angel’s thighs. Castiel’s fingers twitched and clutched around the pillow beneath his head, but they didn’t move from the spot Dean had placed them.

When Dean made a few, experimental thrusts with his hips, Castiel bit his lip at the brief contact, his pelvis chasing the pressure of Dean’s body in search for as much friction as he could possible get, but without succeeding. Dean’s hands trailed a slow pattern from the angel’s shoulders and down his torso; fingers gently ghosting along the happy trail, all the way down to the nest of hair beneath it, before moving back up again. Coming up, his eyes halted at the wings that were still lying splayed out and trembling on either side of Castiel’s body, and that’s where Dean now directed his full attention.

Without warning, he curled his fingers amongst the delicate feathers, just below the arch of both wings, tugging at them gently. A wicked smile curled at the corner of his mouth when the sound of fervent rustling filled his ears, along with a high pitched, keening whimper, and no, Dean was not above the subject of revenge, not by a long shot.

“Yeah, that’s one of your hot spots right there, ain’t it?” he mumbled slyly as he tightened his grip around the quills, watching in satisfaction how Castiel nodded breathlessly and then rolled his head to the side, letting out tiny gasps and heady noises into the pillow.

“And I know you just love it when I do…. _this_ .” Slowly, he dragged his fingers down the inside of the two wings, and finally, Castiel made a proper noise, and God, what a noise. Low, guttural, and so filled with _need,_ it made Dean’s head soar.

He repeated the motion and Cas’s hips bucked, regardless of Dean’s weight being on top of them, and Dean couldn’t resist rolling his hips down, just once, and then twice, three times, four… It felt so good, feeling Castiel’s cock slide against the crook of his thigh, smearing precome in its wake, leaving both of their skin all wet and slippery. Meanwhile, Dean couldn’t help but notice how well his own flesh fitted perfectly in the space between Castiel’s torso and hip, as if the true purpose of their bodies had always been doing just this.

Trusting Castiel to be able to take it, he put more of his weight on the wings in his hands as he bent down and pressed his lips against the angel’s mouth, licking into the heat inside when Cas opened up beneath him with an eager moan. It didn’t take long for them to find a rhythm, skin pressing against skin, accompanied by muffled moans and harsh, panting breaths.

The world shifted in and out of focus, sometimes with every detail sharp and clear, sometimes hazy and blurred around the edges. Sometimes, Dean felt as if he existed only in the way Castiel’s fingers clung to the worn material of the pillowcase, or the way the angel’s breath rushed past his lips every time he managed to hit a spot that was just oh, so right. It was delirious, right down disorienting, and when Dean’s hands fisted the downs between his fingers, Castiel’s entire body dissolved into a series of spasms and convulsions.

“Dean—” Cas’s voice choked, his chest heaving as he struggled to find the words. “Please, I want— Want you… Dean, please…”

Dean laughed in spite of himself. To think that even with his voice completely wrecked, in the middle of rough, needy sex, Castiel still insisted on being polite.

“What are you trying to say, Cas?” he smirked. “You have to speak up or I—”

“ _Dean…!_ ”

Castiel’s wings actually tried to flip underneath the weight of his hands, hinting that if Dean didn’t get his ass into gear right this instant, there would be serious hell to pay. Chuckling, Dean left his perch above the angel’s hips with a final, slow grind down, just to savour Castiel’s stuttered breath as he did so. He then slid further down to settle himself between a pair of muscular thighs, setting his hands on top of Castiel’s knees before halting.

For the second time that day, he felt like a virgin all over again. Cas was panting, looking at him with eyes glazed over with every fucking thing that had ever been able to make Dean go weak in the knees, and still, Dean couldn’t move as much as a muscle. He tried to gather his thoughts into a straight line, forcefully willing his composure back together, trying to decide what to do next.

There were several ways they could do this, he knew as much, but he had no idea which kind Cas was expecting them to go with. Dean cleared his throat, his fingers twitching nervously against Castiel’s knee.

“How do you…” he started slowly, “you know… want it?”

Fuck, that was such a cheesy line, Jesus. They really should have talked this over before they started… doing stuff.

Castiel sat up, leaning back on his elbows as he regarded Dean’s face carefully.

“What would you like to do?” he asked simply.

“Wow.” Dean snorted out a chuckle. “I don’t know. Like, everything?”

At that, Castiel chuckled too, glancing down at where Dean’s hand was resting against his skin.

“Then how about we do just that?” he asked.

Dean swallowed hard, his stomach fluttering.

“You— You’d be okay with that?” he asked, licking his lips nervously.

“Of course.”

“No, I mean… To do… _that…?_ One of us is gonna have to— You know.”

“I’m aware,” Castiel smiled, the amused gleam in his eye making Dean’s throat go all kinds of funny.

“Well,” he croaked. “I don’t think there’s any lube in here.“ He glanced around the room, not really able to talk about lube and look Castiel in the eye at the same time. “Maybe there’s something else lying around in the bathroom we could use?”

“There will be no need for preparations,” Castiel interjected. “I’ll see to it that lubrication won’t be necessary.”

He finished the sentence by rolling over to stand on all fours, the large wings fanning out and stretching from his back with a satisfied sigh of settling air; two graceful arches of shimmering feathers, dark and shining against the dull white of the beddings beneath.

Now, as much as Dean could appreciate the sight before him, there was still something about Castiel’s reassurance that felt wrong, because surely there had to be _lube_ involved? Was Castiel even aware of what he was saying? What it _meant?_

Castiel let out a sigh, sending him a long, pointed look over his shoulder.

“I’m an _angel_ , Dean,” he said flatly, having clearly read Dean’s mind. “I won’t break.”

Dean hesitated. He wasn’t sure if taking a virgin angel on his word about sex was such a fabulous idea. Sure, the blowjob had been beyond this world, and Dean was absolutely convinced that no other mouth in the history of the world would ever have been good enough for him again after that, but this was… different.

Dean had enough practical sexual experience for both of them, but when it came to this particular area, he wasn’t a hundred percent sure of how things worked. He didn’t want to end up hurting Cas just because they were too impatient to do this right.

Yes, Castiel _was,_ indeed, an angel, and Dean had seen him injured in ways far worse than anything he could possibly accomplish here. Still, even though stronger, Cas still wasn’t back to his full smiting glory quite yet, and there was no telling how much discomfort this could cause him. This was supposed to feel good, for both of them, and no matter how okay Castiel told him he was with it—no matter how sexually talented his tongue obviously was—there was just something discouragingly _wrong_ about ramming a dick inside another person completely dry that Dean simply wasn’t willing to disregard.

“You perception on virginity is not very correct,” Castiel pointed out graciously. “Just because one has not performed an act in itself, does not mean they don’t know how it’s done. I’ve been around long enough to know how intercourse works, in whatever form it may take. As an angel also I have certain… advantages when it comes to the limits of my corporeal body. Your concern is flattering, but not necessary.” His voice softened and velvety feathers reached out to ghost against Dean’s arm once more. “Trust me, I would not suggest that we do this if it were to cause me pain.”

Dean placed his hand on the small of Castiel’s back, smoothing across the skin there in a gentle circle, swallowing hard. He did trust Cas...

Hesitantly, he moved both his hands until they were splayed, fingers wide over the globes of the angel’s ass, kneading them slowly with fingers that were just short of trembling. Glancing down, he gently pulled the two cheeks apart, revealing a furled edge of pink that made his tongue instantly go bone dry inside his mouth.

He stilled, panic swelling like the pressure inside a stirred champagne bottle. Holy shit, were they really doing this? Was _he_ doing this?

He froze. His heart raced inside his chest and his body locked up, preventing him to move as much as an inch. His grip on the other’s body faltered, but Castiel pushed back into the touch immediately, breathing out a needy growl against the beddings beneath them.

Somehow, that sound enabled Dean to muster up the operational skills his body needed to move. Quickly, he brought up and licked the palm of his left hand generously, thinking that saliva would at least be better than nothing at all, before reaching down and gripping around himself. Fuck, just slickening himself up again was like playing with fire; the memory of Castiel’s mouth on his skin still too vivid, and he let go again as soon as he considered himself wet enough.

With a slow, shaky breath, he straightened up and began to align himself slowly, trying not to act like a fumbling virgin as he moved to press in closer. When the head of his cock slid up against the puckered entrance, he could feel the impatient shiver that travelled through Castiel’s limbs reverberate throughout his entire body. He closed his eyes, breathing in once deeply before opening them again.

He trusted Cas.

“If it hurts, you let me know and I’ll stop, alright?” he whispered hoarsely and Castiel’s wings rustled soothingly in response as Castiel dipped his head in between his shoulders in a nod.

“Of course,” he agreed shakily.

The first push made Dean’s fingers dig into the angel’s sides so hard they were bound to hurt. Stars swam before his eyes in flashes of white light from the sheer tightness of it.

When he eased himself inside, he could hear Castiel’s breath hitch as shuddered with every inch of flesh Dean pushed inside of him. Sweat broke out on both of their bodies and even though Castiel had ensured him that he could handle it dry, Dean was not totally convinced that he himself was capable of the same feat. The angel was clenching around him, strangling him, and he dared not— He _could_ not—   

“Cas, stay still,” he panted, chest heaving as he tried to keep himself steady. “Fuck, just… don’t move.”

Castiel didn’t answer, but the dark mess of hair nodded once in response. Dean rubbed his left hand soothingly along the dip of the angel’s spine, up below the joints of the dark wings jutting out by Castiel’s shoulder blades.

“You’ve gotta relax for me, man,” he breathed. “Shit, you’re so tight…”

Cas nodded again, but it was like he was just responding on reflex, as if Dean’s words were only heard, but not understood. The heat of Castiel’s body was so close, the clench of muscles so tight, and Dean realized without even having to move, that there was no way they would be able to do this and make it last at the same time.

Leaning forward, he managed to snake his arm around the other’s waist without disturbing their position, trying to avoid putting his weight on the angel’s body as he pressed his lips against Castiel’s lower back.

“C’mon…” he whispered soothingly. “I’ve got you, okay? Just relax… I’ve got you…”

When his hand closed around the hardness between Castiel’s legs, he wasn’t sure if the breathless moan that followed came from him or the body beneath him, because suddenly he felt the muscles around him clench once, and then _give._ Just like that, he sank into the heat of Castiel’s body, like a hot knife sinking into butter. Close to painful pleasure tingled at the base of his spine as he sheathed himself fully inside, and once buried to the hilt, it felt as if a single tremor would be enough to make him erupt right there on the spot.

His fingers kept stroking up and down Castiel’s cock and he let out a relieved sigh when the constricting grip around him loosened even further in response. It was so tight, so hot, and he was dying to move, but he had to make sure that Cas was okay before he did so. The angel was still breathing harshly beneath him and shuddered with every twist from Dean’s wrist, but he hadn’t moved as much as an inch.

“Hey,” Dean rasped. “You alright?”

Cas nodded, breathing out a broken ‘yes’ into the sheets below. His arms trembled, his feathers were almost obscenely ruffled, and Dean could feel the twitches the other’s body made when Dean stilled the movements over the erection in his hand.

“You sure?” he prompted. “Because if it hurts—”

“It doesn’t hurt,” Castiel whispered hoarsely, and Dean frowned.

“If it doesn’t hurt, then how come you ain’t moving?” he asked.

There was a moment of silence.

“Because… you told me not to.”

The furrow on Dean’s brow deepened in confusion, just for a second. Then he realized what the angel was referring to, and oh… _Oh_ … _!_

His hard grip around the jutted curve of Castiel’s hip tightened sharply as Dean leaned down, pressing his forehead against the dip of the angel’s back. He heard Castiel moan when his thumb moved to rub against the head of the erection in his hands, feeling Castiel shudder beneath him from the sudden stimulation.

“Goddamn it, Cas…” he whispered hoarsely, and he could literally feel the boom in the air when Castiel’s angel-focus settled on him, like some kind of celestial searchlight.

“You do realize I didn’t mean it like that, right?” he asked.

“I know.”

Dean’s hips stuttered, just a fraction of a thrust, bringing forth another tremble from the body beneath him.

“Do you like it?” he asked quietly, his lips brushing against the skin of Castiel’s shoulder blades. “Me telling you what to do? Or is it the restraint that does it for you?”

“Both, maybe. The sensation is—” Castiel started, before cutting himself off and swallowing hard. “Yes,” he managed to grate out. “I do.”

“Fuck…” Dean had to use the other’s body to keep himself upright, focusing on breathing, because an angel with a bondage fetish? _Seriously_?

“Saying things like that could get you in trouble, you know,” he whispered, rubbing the head of the member in his hand with the pad of his thumb. Castiel whimpered at the touch, his dick twitching, but alas, he remained still.

“You’re dying to fuck into my hand right now, aren’t you?” Dean prompted, nuzzling his nose into the dip between the angel’s wings. “But instead, you just take it like this, all because I told you not to move. As if I had tied you down…”

Deliberately, he blew softly into the downs on the base of Castiel’s wings, listening to the way the feathers above him spiked into attention with a sound like a million leaves quivering in the wind.

“Am I getting it right?” he asked, the fingers splayed out on the other’s lower back raking loose nails all the way down the curve of the angel’s ass, making Castiel gasp as his body tensed and twitched in their wake.

“Yes.”

“Fuck.” Dean cursed again, the word leaving his mouth in a breathy whisper. “Can I move?” he asked.

“Yes… Oh, _please_ , yes…”

Castiel’s voice came out like a broken whimper and Dean straightened up, bracing himself with both hands in a firm hold on Castiel’s hips. Making sure to keep the angel still, he slowly began to pull out, inch by inch, before just as slowly easing himself back in.

It was still tight, but God, did it feel good. Hot and blazing, like fire; every slow drag of flesh igniting a new spark of pleasure that flashed brightly behind his eyes, making him moan. He felt Castiel as the other tried to move his hips back, despite Dean’s grip around him, but Dean held the angel in place, keeping the slow pace he had set up.

“You’re not moving fast enough,” Castiel berated through gritted teeth, and Dean decided to give the angel’s ass a reprimanding slap for the discourtesy.

“Patience,” he panted. “I told you, I’d take my time.” He shifted his legs, giving him a better stance on the wiggly bed, ignoring the annoyed groan Castiel sent him in return.

“I assure you, it’s not necessa—” The rest of Castiel’s sentence ended in a single, very audible yelp, and Dean stilled, convinced that he had gone too fast and hurt the other in spite of the angel’s previous assurances.

“Cas, you okay?”

Castiel raised his head and looked back at him over his shoulder, eyes blown wide with startled wonder.

“That— What did you—”

Granted, Dean wasn’t a self-proclaimed expert on gay sex, not even a little bit, but he knew enough to figure out the reason behind his partner’s sudden reaction. Canting his hips, pushing forward like he had just a few seconds ago, he felt a victorious heat surge through him when Castiel’s eyes fluttered shut, his fists grappling at the sheets beneath his head.

“You mean that?” Dean asked sweetly, smirking at the way Castiel nodded frantically in response. “Oh, _that…_ ”

The hands that had been holding onto Castiel’s hips released their grip, moving on to caress the curve of the angel’s ass, before returning to smooth up along the muscles of Castiel’s back.

“You’re the expert on putting people’s bodies back together,” Dean teased. “I think you know what that is, don’t you?”

Once again, the angel’s head moved up and down in a silent nod, making Dean’s smirk grow into a grin.

“Good.”

He gave it another second, and then he dug his hands into the wildly ruffled quills at the lower half of Castiel’s wings, snapping his hips forward. The motion almost drove Castiel head first into the mattress, but Dean’s grip held him in place, preventing him from going anywhere.

“Oh, my _G—_ ” Castiel choked around the last word, biting down on the blasphemy that threatened to leave his mouth. It had Dean groaning, because making an angel lose it enough to take the Lord’s name in vain? Needless to say—hot as fuck.

“You liked that, huh?” he mused, but Cas barely had time to nod before Dean was pulling out and thrusting back in. This time Castiel actually – holy fuck – had to bury his face against the meat of his own bicep to muffle the sounds spilling from his mouth, and alright, that was _it_.

Slow wasn’t part of the plan anymore. Hell, it wasn’t even an existing word. Dean’s hips were moving on their own, quick and ruthless, and Castiel’s hands were clawing over the sheets for something to hold onto as he took everything Dean was giving him. A few frantic thrusts was literally all it took for Dean’s resolve to get reduced into a haze of ragged breaths, sweat and sweet, blissful pleasure.

Castiel slumped down onto his elbows, the side of his face pressing against the mattress as he slid back and forth in time with Dean’s thrusts. Through the haze, Dean could see that Castiel had his eyes blissfully screwed shut, his fingers flexing against the sheets in desperate little twitches. There was another movement too; a near unnoticeable shaping of Castiel’s lips as they opened and closed, almost invisibly.

At first, Dean though that it was nothing, just movements caused by pants and moans, but then he realized that they were _words_ . Soon after, he also found that the movement was not just words as much as they were _a_ word, a _name,_ breathed over and over, like a prayer.

Dean.

_Dean, Dean, Dean, Dean, Dean…_

Oh, that was hot. That was _insanely_ hot.

Dean’s hands tugged at the feathers in his hands once, hard, before letting go. Then he leaned forward and hooked his arms under the base of the wings and pulled Castiel up against his own torso. Cas yelped with surprise, his back arching in a long, gracious bow when the new position brought Dean even further inside, filling him to the core.

“Fuck, Cas, don’t hold out on me.” Dean growled into the feathers that were suddenly surrounding him, twitching and rustling with every thrust he made. “I wanna hear everything that comes out of your mouth, you understand?”

“I don’t—”

“ _Everything_ , Cas. Shit…”

The fire that had been boiling low in his gut was suddenly licking up his spine in hot, sweet flares, and he wasn’t sure if he was burning or freezing with the way he was shaking from it. He wasn’t going to last long, he could feel the climax building even now, but he wasn’t about to leave Castiel as runner up in this.

He released one of the wings and brought the hand around to grip Castiel’s hard on like he had before, stroking it purposefully. Just like that, it was as if someone had ripped an invisible gag from Castiel’s mouth and the words came tumbling forth in a jumble of syllables and broken sentences, tripping over each other in their hurry to get out.

“Oh…! Oh, that’s— Oh, Dean… _Dean!_ ”

Castiel’s voice was rough, hoarse and gravelly. It was a voice made for sex, for moaning and shouting in breathless cries and that’s exactly what it was doing right now; each and every sound adding to the cracks in Dean’s already faltering defences. Castiel was meeting his thrusts, grinding down eagerly every time Dean’s hips pistoned up, and Dean was almost too far gone to notice that the angel wasn’t even speaking pure English anymore.

“Dean… ye— p—please, oh, please…! Dean... Oh, Dean, there… _In hoath_ _oi quasahi_ , oh yes, yes, _there…!_ ”

The foreign words made every hair on Dean’s entire body stand on end, an electric surge filling the air as they moved together. It built, soaring through every fiber of his being as the rhythmic thrust of his hips began to falter and break apart. The wet slap of skin against skin was intoxicating, making his head spin, and he leaned it against the angel’s back, kissing the sweat damp skin of Castiel’s shoulder.

Lapping at the salty moisture, he trailed his lips and tongue up along a strong curve of feathers, before sucking one of them into his mouth, making Castiel’s head toss to the side with a moan. Dean let the arm that he had kept hooked under the base of Castiel’s left wing slide loose, wrapping it tightly around the angel’s torso instead.

Fingers searching, he found the hardened peak of a nipple, brushing against it, and Castiel mewled helplessly in response to the touch. Then Dean’s breath got stolen straight out of his chest when _something_ nudged against his mind, like the gentle stroke of a hand. He stilled, unable to move as much as an inch.

“Cas?” he breathed, a questions within the name. The sensation was repeated, making Dean’s fingers twitch against the angel’s chest. “Is that—?” He choked down a moan when it happened again, with more force this time, and oh, holy shit, oh, fuck…!

Castiel’s grace seemed to slot up against Dean’s soul with an eager hum that sent tremors down Dean’s spine. Dean could feel it move, shifting and curling around the edges of his consciousness with a gentle, yet insistent pressure, moving with the rhythm of his heartbeat and making his body thrum and vibrate with anticipation.

The handprint on his arm tingled and throbbed along with his pulse as the bond flared up brighter than he had ever felt it before, and he realized through the haze that this was it. After this there would be no turning back; he would be bound soul to grace with an angel, forever and always, beyond Death and Hell and Heaven, and everything that might come after that.

He tightened his grip around Castiel’s body when Castiel’s wings flared out, almost making him lose his balance. In that moment, with the heat of Castiel’s body pressing against his, and the wave of climax building fast, Dean’s soul stirred, shifted, and opened up.

Fire, hot and sweet, drowned his senses, making his body quake and his lungs to ache. Castiel’s grace coursed through him, filling him up, and he could feel its strength coil just beneath the surface of it, the desperate _need_ , the desire and unfathomable _love_ it carried.

He felt _Castiel_ . This enormous, unrestrained _power,_ and he knew that his mouth was moving, but he had absolutely no idea of what he was saying, or if the sounds rolling off his tongue were even proper words. Then the flow of grace changed, became focused to a point just behind his temples, and Dean heard Castiel’s whimper inside his head before it reached his ears, like some sort of telepathic delay.

Castiel rolled his hips, snapping Dean back to the rapid rising and falling of the angel’s chest beneath his hand, and to the sweat glistening on the nape of the neck before his eyes. He felt Castiel shake and then lock up around him, the angel’s head falling back, lips parted in a silent cry, and then the world around them literally _exploded_.

The glass pitcher standing on the bedside table cracked from the bottom up and then shattered into a million pieces, spreading glass and water throughout the entire room. The windows chinked and blew out, and seconds later, a dull pang followed by a jingle from downstairs notified Dean that the big mirror in the hall was now nothing but a glistening heap on the carpeted floor in the study.

The walls rumbled as vibrations shook the room, fiery hot grace enveloping them both and forcing Dean to close his eyes while the angel’s climax whited out _everything_. He could feel it surround him, move against him and lick across his skin like the flutter of lips, all over his body. When Castiel’s cock twitched and then spilled warm, sticky substance all over his hand, there was no holding back. He came, pulling his lover’s convulsing body possessively against his own while he thrust up, pumping his release into the angel beneath him while burying his own hoarse scream amongst midnight feathers.

Eventually, when the flames had faded into a faint, pulsating glow, they slumped down onto the mattress, falling on their sides in a blissful, boneless heap. Dean could feel Castiel’s mind let out a pulse of pouting loss when Dean slid out of him to rolled over onto his side, waiting for the last, bright dots to disappear from the inside of his eyelids.

“That… That was…” Castiel obviously wasn’t ready to speak yet, because he just let out another low moan, leaving the sentence unfinished. Instead, Dean felt his chest fill with an alien, fuzzy feeling of content that wasn’t part of his own, and he frowned.

“Are you using telepathy on me?” he asked incredulously. In return, he felt Castiel’s grace give his soul an affirmative little nudge, almost like an incorporeal elbow to the side.

“So… this is how it’s going to be?” He tentatively reached out to let his consciousness brush against the feeling of Castiel that was being pressed against his mind. “Am I always going to feel what you’re thinking?”

“No.” Castiel almost sounded amused by the thought. “The bond is very raw at the moment. It will fade into a more manageable state in a few days.”

“Oh.” Dean curiously trailed mental fingertips over the new, lit up spot inside his mind, and smirked when Castiel let out a low chuckle next to him, as if the touch tickled.

_Don’t play with it, Dean._

Dean immediately pulled his mind back where it belonged, but he could still feel Castiel’s amused smile light up the bond with its faint glow. Outside the busted windows, there was a sudden flash, followed by a sharp rumble, and then rain began trickling down from the sky, staining the floorboards just beneath the windowsill with thick droplets.

“You know, Bobby’s gonna kill you…” Dean pointed out, failing to hold back a smile of his own at the sight.

There was a low rustle, and Dean knew from the surprise pushing against his mind that Castiel was looking around the room for the first time since they had finished, Dean’s words having drawn his attention to its current state.

_Oh…_

The angel’s thoughts sounded almost sheepish and Dean snorted out a laugh.

“Yeah. That about covers it.”

He sat up, suddenly remembering that even though the windows had been blown outwards there was still an entire pitcher that had downright exploded right next to them. He looked down at the bed, prepared to wince at all the glass he was sure to find lying all around them, but the sheets were completely glass free. On closer inspection, it turned out that everything within a six feet radius was squeaky clean, a perfect circle of undisturbed territory that without a doubt had been caused by the grace Castiel had released into its space.

“Dude,” Dean breathed, almost revering. “We better do something about those lungs of yours, or we’re gonna have to gag you.” To make his point clear, he also sent the mental image of a bright red gag ball in the angel’s direction, and Castiel gave him a wide eyed, somewhat appalled look in return.

“I’m joking, you idiot,” Dean said, rolling his eyes. “Though, seriously,” he added, pointing to the room, “is this gonna happen every time we… you know?”

“I did not think it would be that intense.” Castiel defended himself, sounding close to awed, before adding thoughtfully, “I was trying to hold back.”

“ _This_ was _holding back_?” Dean gaped, and Castiel’s shoulders, wings and mind all shrugged simultaneously in response.

It was a weird thing to experience, both visually and mentally, and Dean slumped back against the headboard with a breathy chuckle. Castiel followed his example and settled down onto his stomach on the bed to fold his arms beneath his head and spread out his wings in a long stretch on either side of him, as if they were yawning, before folding them over his back like the world’s fluffiest comforter.

Dean noted with a pang of mixed guilt and possessiveness that some of the feathers were angled almost painfully wrong – silent proof of Dean’s previous actions. He reached out his hand in a quick attempt to smooth them down, but without result. He tried again, but with the same outcome, and as if sensing Dean’s abashment, Cas slowly and without a word extended the large appendage to drape over Dean’s lap, giving the hunter full access to the problem area.

Dean proceeded to pluck with the feathers and realigning them, feeling slightly less ashamed when Castiel’s part of their new mind link sent out a pleased hum at him in return. When Cas let out a content sigh into the crook of his elbow, along with the vague, fluttery sensation of ‘happy’ through the bond, Dean halted in his ministrations and shot him a suspicious look.

“Hey.” He jabbed at the other’s calf with his foot. “This is not some form of freaky angel-post-sex-cuddling, is it?” he demanded with a low grumble. Cas opened a single, sleepy eye and looked at him, then up at the hands currently tangled in his left wing, and then back at Dean once more.

“No,” he deadpanned. Then he closed his eyes and nuzzled even deeper into the folds of his own arms with another, pleasured sigh. Even though the bond in the back of Dean’s mind immediately betrayed the angel’s statement by whispering a very insistent ‘yes’ instead, Dean decided to graciously overlook it.

Just this once.

  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading, guys. I hope you enjoyed it ;)  
> And no, the story doesn't end here. There are still 7 more chapters and a bonus chapter left to go, so make sure to stick around!
> 
> Hope you're all having a great day so far, and that you're taking good care of yourselves <3  
> See you next Thursday!


	12. 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello guys.  
> Sorry this chapter is a little late. I've hit a rough patch here at home, and things have been beyond stressfull this past week.  
> Next chapter should be posted on time, however, so don't worry. The story is not being abandoned, I've worked too hard on it to let that happen haha.
> 
> I hope that you're all doing well, and I wish you guys a happy reading :)  
> Have fun!

The first thing Dean noticed when he woke up was that something warm was lying pressed up against the entire left side of his body, the pleasant heat of it seeping into his skin like liquid fire. The second thing was that something equally warm, yet incredibly soft, was splayed out over the rest of him.

When he blinked his eyes open, his vision immediately filled with an inky black that immediately had him snapping his head up, confused panic and a horrible sense of not knowing where he was rushing in. It was quickly chased away, however, by the soft touch of fingers against his upper arm, and a soothing caress to the inside of his head.

_Give it a minute._

Castiel’s voice was like a whisper within his mind and when Dean looked to the side, he was met with the calming, half lidded blue of the angel’s eyes.

_Oh._

The thought travelled through the bond before he even had the time to figure out how to make it do so, and Castiel closed his eyes with a contented sigh, the corner of his mouth twitching up into a smile. Dean could feel the other’s amusement trickle throug the psychic link like a miniature waterfall and he blinked dumbly, his mind drowsily sorting through the memories of the past hours that the sensation of Castiel’s consciousness moving against his sent rushing back.

 _I fell asleep,_ he grunted through the bond, and felt Castiel’s mirth give way to silent confirmation.

_You did._

Dean looked at his wrist, realizing too late that his watch was lying upstairs on the sink where he put it the night before.

 _What time is it?_ he grumbled, rubbing the sleep from his eyes.

 _Almost four in the afternoon,_ Castiel answered, causing Dean to squint in confusion.

_I slept the entire day?_

_Your body needed the rest. Forming the bond took quite a toll on you._

Dean tried to sit up higher, but without much success. Slowly, he shifted his eyes from the male by his side, to the large, feather-clad limb that was draped heavily over their bodies like a giant comforter. Pointedly, he raised a brow at Castiel, which Castiel answered with a mental shrug.

 _You were cold,_ he explained simply. Dean’s eyebrow shot up even higher as he slowly lifted the wing to reveal the spot where Castiel’s arm was firmly circled around his waist. Castiel’s eyes narrowed to give him a challenging look from underneath dark lashes.

“Let me remind you that you fell asleep while petting me like abnormally large cat. All your arguments are invalid.”

“I did not—” Dean’s protest was cut short by Castiel’s memory of Dean himself, dozing off with his hands slowly stroking down the oil colored feathers, and Dean immediately shut his mouth again, trying his best to ignore the triumphant surge he got from his bedmate in return.

 _Not a word,_ he warned silently, and Castiel’s mouth curled into a smirk.

 _Of course not_.

Castiel slowly moved his hand down Dean’s torso to trace nimble fingers over the jut of his hip, the angel’s thumb swiping back and forth to just barely grace the edge of coarse pubic hair. Dean tried to suppress a shudder, but failed, when the mirth coming from the angel’s mind quickly morphed into a more goal oriented interest.  

 _I thought angels were supposed to be all about sexual abstinence?_ Dean teased. Castiel snorted, a flicker of disdain cutting through the angel’s focus.

 _Those rules were man-made by the men of the clergy,_ he explained, the hand on Dean’s hip dipping even further down. _Heaven had nothing to do with them._

 _Yeah… I can see that…_ Dean licked his lips when Castiel’s hand brushed against his dick, and he wasn’t sure if the sudden wave of arousal he felt at that came from him or the angel at his side. His cock twitched expectantly beneath the touch nonetheless, and Dean sucked in a sharp intake of breath when Castiel’s fingers began tracing the inside of his thigh.

Fuck, this had to be the strangest morning after he had ever experienced in his life. Not only was the naked person feeling him up a _male_ _angel_ , but also a male angel whom Dean currently shared a two-lane, mindreading connection with. At the moment he couldn’t even decide if it was the sensation against his skin or his mind that was making his heart race and causing his blood to run hot in his veins

Of course, he had expected this entire day to be beyond awkward. Hell, he had _counted_ on it, but instead, everything felt so laid back and normal, as if he had always woken up to rough, calloused hands roaming his body and low, gravelly words being whispered inside his head.

It was as if Castiel was the last piece of a puzzle that had been missing for ages, and now the image was finally complete, clear, and Dean found that there was absolutely _nothing_ about this situation that made him feel uncomfortable, or even embarrassed.

So apparently he was gay for an angel. Damn it, at the moment he was technically _married_ to an angel, and he knew that he should be freaking out about it, knew that freaking out had _definitely_ been on the agenda less than twelve hours ago, but… right now he couldn’t for the life of him remember why.

After all, since when had the prospects of morning sex and sleepy kisses ever been a reason to freak out?

He was ripped out of his building state of arousal, however, by a low buzzing originating from the floor on the other side of the room. Castiel’s mind glowered annoyance at the sound when Dean’s unspoken question was sourly answered that the interruption came from the cell phone residing inside Dean’s jeans’ pocket.

 _It’s been doing that for almost an hour_ , the angel grumbled, the teasing flutter of his fingers never ceasing to move against Dean’s skin.

“An _hour_?” Dean asked incredulously, ignoring the disapproval of the angel’s mind as he moved to regrettably untangle himself from the other’s hands, legs and wings. The phone was his private one, and if that one was ringing he very much wanted to know why.

“It’s only Bobby,” Castiel objected as Dean stood up, pulled the sheet high around his waist and carefully padded through the chilly room – Cas had the natural body heat of a lit furnace, so it wasn’t as if he’d need any covers anyway – carefully stepping over the broken glass on the floor until he could get a hold of his jeans and pull the buzzing cellphone out.

“The bigger reason to answer,” he pointed out, just before flipping the cell open and bringing it to his ear. “Hi, Bobby,” he greeted into the device, hearing Bobby snort loudly on the other side of the line in response.

“Well, look who finally decided to pick up. What the hell were you doing? I’ve been trying to get hold of you all day.”

Dean ran a hand over his face, rubbing the last lingering traces of sleep out of his eyes.

“Yeah, I was sleeping, didn’t hear the phone… So what’s up? Where are you?”

“I’m just north of Sioux City, close to Elk Point heading up 29. I’ll be in Sioux Falls in just over an hour.”

“Oh, so you’re coming home?” Dean sent a wide-eyed stare over his shoulder at Castiel and then at the chaos that used to be Bobby’s guest room. “That’s great.”

“Don’t sound so thrilled,” Bobby grumbled. “I’m just calling to tell you that I’m stopping by the supermarket on the way to buy some food, since I take it the two of you haven’t left the house all week. Got any idea what we might need?”

“Oh, uhm…” Dean awkwardly rubbed a hand over the back of his neck. “You better stock up on basically everything. The pantry’s kind of… empty.”

“Empty?” Bobby repeated slowly, and Dean pinched the bridge of his nose.

“Yeah, uh, long story. Just buy some more beer and something for dinner, and we’ll fix the rest tomorrow.”

 _We need more milk and diapers for Sam,_ Castiel informed him and Dean nodded, repeating the message into the phone.

“I’ll get on it,” Bobby confirmed. “So how are things with you? Sam’s obviously still in need of diapers, and I take it you and Feathers are both alive?”

“We’re good, Bobby,” Dean assured him.

“Oh.” Bobby seemed to mull the information over for a few seconds. “As in just good or… _good?_ ”

“I’m still breathing, aren’t I?” Dean sighed. Really, he wasn’t very keen on explaining how the thing between him and Cas had all gone down through the phone, or any other way for that matter. Luckily, Bobby seemed to accept his answer, his voice losing some of the roughness as he continued.

“I have to admit, boy,” he admitted, “you sound a whole lot calmer than I thought you would.”

“Well, you and me both.” Dean muttered, ignoring the fact that Bobby had practically just admitted that he’d known this would happen.

“I see. Well, congratulations then, I guess,” Bobby offered, and Dean swore that he could hear the other’s smirk all the way through the phone.

“Yeah, thanks,” he said, rolling his eyes to the ceiling.

“You’re welcome,” Bobby shot back. “I’ll see you in about two hours. And I better not find any suspicious stains on my furniture when I get back!”

“Bobby!”

“You defiled an angel of the lord in my house; you have no right to be prude.”

“Bite me.”

“I’d rather not. Your new boyfriend is a scary fellow and I wouldn’t want to make him jea—”

Dean hung up before the old geezer could finish the sentence.

“Bobby’s coming home,” he announced with a sigh, even though he knew that Castiel already was aware of this. “Looks like we have some work to do.”

He turned around to give the angel a pointed look over his shoulder, swallowing down a rush of heat when he realized that the angel was lying still completely naked, defiantly sprawled out in the middle of the bed where Dean had left him, wings and hair lightly ruffled from not-really-sleep. Dean would have given anything to keep Bobby away from the house for just a few more hours, but sadly, they had some other, more pressing matters that needed to be taken care of.

“Like what?” the angel gruffed and Dean pointedly cleared his throat, throwing his arms out to the rest of the room as he gestured towards the broken glass and flapping drapes by the busted window.

“I don’t think Bobby’s gonna like coming home to this,” he said and in return he received an annoyed pulse of grace as Castiel’s wings indignantly puffed up.

“Why not?”

“ _Why not?_ ” Dean choked out. “Cas, have you _looked_ at this place? And correct me if I’m wrong, but the hallway outside looks very similar to this, doesn’t it?”

“Maybe,” Castiel answered sourly, but Dean caught a glimpse of the chaos when the angel’s mind made a quick dip outside the room to evaluate the situation.

“Yeah, just like I thought,” he smirked. Castiel glared at him. Dean ignored it.

“Now get your ass up and help me clean all this glass away,” he ordered. “And we need to find something to cover up the window with until we can buy a ne—”

A loud chinking sound from behind him cut him off mid-sentence, and when he turned around, the glass was once again sitting firmly in its place in the window frame, the floor around his feet squeaky clean and glass free. The pitcher and its accompanying glass were standing peacefully on the bedside table, and on the mattress, Castiel was still glaring at him defiantly.

“Wow…” Dean blinked as he turned around on the spot, taken a bit off guard. “Well, that’s convenient, ” he commented.

“Undoubtedly,” Castiel answered, “now, would you please get back here?”

“Did you fix the hallway too?” Dean pointed with his thumb at the door, and Castiel’s consciousness immediately made some sort of evasive pull. Dean was about to go after it when a loud cling sounded from the left of the bed as the water filled pitcher cracked by the handle and water began trickling down onto the wooden surface of the table beneath it.

Castiel’s eyes flickered uncertainty towards the container, and then back to Dean, and then down to the pillow at his side as Dean raised an amused eyebrow at him.

“Missed a spot?” he teased gently, and Castiel’s wings pulled in tight against his back.

“Technically,” he muttered.

“Yeah, nice try.” Dean picked up the angel’s clothing from the floor and tossed them at him. Cas caught them singlehandedly in the air with a huff.

“Now get up and I’ll teach you how fix things the old fashioned _human_ way.”

 _I only need a minute,_ Castiel’s mind objected sullenly with a flash of wounded pride. It was almost as heart wrenching as it was adorable.

 _Save it, hot wings,_ Dean said firmly. _You’re not fit to fight just yet._

_Hot wings?_

Castiel’s annoyance got mixed with subtle confusion, and Dean felt a light flush creep up his neck.

_Yeah… like… You know… Since the wings are spicy and you’re— uh…_

Castiel’s head tilted to the side, frown deepening as the bond tightened with attention.

“Fried chicken?” he asked and Dean winced.

“No, not fried chick— if you’re gonna pick my brain then would you at least do it _right?_ ”

Castiel let out a low huff and abandoned the bond in favor of sorting out the heap of clothing Dean had thrown his way, pulling at the garments one by one with twitchy movements accompanied by agitated flicker of his wings. A few feathers whirled up and landed on the white sheets like a silent, yet very apparent proof of the angel’s disapproval.

Dean bent down to pull on his own boxers, and was just about to put on his jeans when a particularly hard shove against his mind made him abruptly straighten up, sending an amused glance at the angel on the bed.

 _Dude, are you_ sulking _?_ He let out a low chuckle and Castiel wings rose up defiantly. Something swatted at Dean’s thoughts, like a mental thwack over the head.

“What?” Dean laughed. “It’s not like there won’t be time to, you know, _later_.”

When Castiel sent a half intrigued, half still-glaring look his way, Dean simply wiggled his eyebrows suggestively at him. It earned him another low snort, but the looming cloud that hovered over the bond seemed to clear up slightly.

“Hey,” Dean made his way back to the bed and climbed in, walking on all fours over the tangled sheets until he could nudge his shoulder playfully against the angel’s back. “It’s just some glass and a few light bulbs. We’ll be done in no time, even without angel mojo.”

He sat up, moving in to snake his arm firmly around Castiel’s still naked torso, hesitating for just a moment before leaning in to spread a pattern of feathery light kisses against the angel’s neck until he felt the muscles beneath his hand relax, and heard the silent exhale of air fall from the angel’s lips.

“C’mon…” he mouthed against the shell of the other’s ear. “Sammy needs his lunch, and if Bobby starts yelling at us for thrashing his house we won’t be able to catch a break for the rest of the night.”

Castiel grumbled something deep down in his throat, tilting his head just a little to the side, allowing Dean’s mouth better access. Dean could feel the light shudder that travelled through the bond when Dean took the invitation, breathing in the scent of heat and warm rain that lingered upon the angel’s skin.

“Please?” he urged, bringing his second hand up to join the other, dragging loose fingers over Castiel’s abs. The angel let out another sound that could have been a chuckle if it hadn’t sounded so breathless.

“Your methods of persuasion are very contradictory…” he hummed and Dean chuckled silently against the small hairs at the base of Castiel’s neck.

“Doesn’t really matter, as long as they work.”

Castiel slumped back even further, his head coming to a rest heavily upon Dean’s shoulder with a sigh while Cas stared up at the ceiling as if it was to blame for his dilemma.

“Does the human way take long?” he muttered eventually.

“Not really,” Dean mumbled, nuzzling closer to the angel’s ear. “If we start now, we might even get a good forty minutes before Bobby gets home.”

Castiel closed his eyes.

“Forty minutes sounds… reasonable,” he decided and Dean nodded.

“One can do a lot in forty minutes,” he agreed. This time, the sound that came out of the angel’s mouth was most definitely a chuckle, and Dean answered it by giving the angel a final, firm kiss on the side of the neck, before straightening up.

“Alright, get your ass into gear.” He gave Castiel a push, forcing the other to sit up straight before he moved away, returning to the task of getting dressed. “We’ve got mirror shards to pick out of the wall in Bobby’s study.”

Castiel groaned, but stood up from the bed nonetheless.

“The human way is infuriatingly tedious,” he declared sourly as he pulled on his shirt, and Dean laughed, shaking his head.

“Sorry dude, but until your batteries are fully charged, it’s the only game in town.” He adjusted his t-shirt and then took three quick steps to the other side of the bed and pressed a swift, almost chaste kiss against the angel’s lips with a grin.

“So stop whining and put your back into it.”

/\/\/\/\/\/\

Luckily, they didn’t have to do much ‘the human’ way, given that Castiel was still capable of performing minor miracles as long as he did them one at a time, and allowed himself a few minutes of rest in between the tussles.

The hallway mirror had to be done in several turns, but it was soon puzzled back together. The small marks and scratches on Bobby’s desk that had been caused by the explosion were quickly remedied, even though Dean suspected that a few more blemishes to the old thing wouldn’t have made much of a difference.

Sam woke up from his still grace-induced sleep when Dean managed to locate the busted light bulb from the desk lamp with his foot. Once Dean stopped cursing and Sam stopped crying, Cas had healed the bleeding limb with a quick tap of his finger, along with a lingering touch to the inside of Dean’s knee that caused a lopsided grin to form on the hunter’s lips.

At first, Dean thought that it was a bit confusing to have Castiel’s thoughts buzzing around inside his head. After a few hours, however, the chaotic storm of feelings, thoughts and conversations smoothed out into a soft, sort of glassy stream, where the different components layered themselves on top each other, making them easier to define.

Dean had been caught by surprise when he found that the new, enhanced bond did not only transmit Castiel’s thoughts and feelings, but that it also conveyed all these things with the occasional burst of colors, images, and even flavors.

For example, the word ‘friend” immediately conjured up the image of Sam reaching out his hand in greeting with an excited smile on his face. ‘Home’ seemed to be associated with dark leather and the metallic taste of exhaust fumes, while ‘joy’ was followed by the color green and the unmistakable smell of Dean’s own shampoo.

When Dean pointed this out, Cas informed him that even though Dean’s thoughts usually tasted like apple pie and hot coffee, they tasted hot and smoky and had the dark, golden color of whiskey when they made love. The information caused Dean’s ears to glow red and his cheeks to burn hot with embarrassment at the angel’s sentimental choice of words.

 _Why?_ Castiel asked, his back turned towards him while he arranged the books in Bobby’s bookshelf on the other side of the room. _That’s what we did, after all._

 _It’s just… calling it that makes it sound so… I don’t know, cheesy._ Dean objected, and Castiel’s confusion immediately lit up the link between them.

_What does cheese have to do with anything?_

_No, Cas, not cheese._ Cheesy _. As in stupid, or silly._

 _You prefer the term ‘fucking’ then._ Castiel decided soberly, as if they were discussing their preference of food, and Dean shrugged, biting his lip while fiddling with the lid to one of Sammy’s food jars.

_Yeah, fucking, sleeping together, having sex, whatever. Making love is something—_

_Married people do?_ Castiel finished with a smile, and Dean rolled his eyes to the ceiling.

_Alright smarty-pants, you got me there. Why are we even discussing this, by the way? I can feel that you already know what I mean._

_Curiosity,_ Castiel shrugged. Then he squinted, the tip of his finger running over the broken spine of an old, ragged book, immediately repairing it. _I think I like that word as well,_ he concluded. _Fucking._

You _like the word_ fucking? Dean asked with a raised brow, finding the thought of a holy creature like an angel throwing around an expression like that highly contradictive.

 _Yes._ Castiel turned to shoot him a dirty look over his shoulder. _I_ like _it,_ he added.

Dean’s gut pulled tight with arousal when Cas followed the statement up by sending a warm, pulsating (and _very_ graphic) request for them to engage in this type of activity again soon.

 _I’ve created a monster,_ Dean chuckled, shaking his head. Castiel snorted.

_You make it sound like it’s a bad thing?_

_Nah,_ Dean confessed. _This is one monster I think I could get used to._

Castiel’s mind flickered amusement at him and then pulled away to focus on repairing the broken desk light. Dean smiled as he poured the jar of puréed carrots into a bowl and fetched a spoon from the kitchen to feed Sam.

For once, Sammy actually ate his lunch without giving Dean a hard time about it, and then Dean spent a good thirty minutes walking around with the small child in his arms, attempting to make him go back to sleep while Castiel repaired the last cracks in the kitchen windows.

Apparently, from what Dean had been able to pluck out of the angel’s head, the force released when grace merged is more than enough to level an entire neighbourhood to the ground. Even though the effect had been lessened by the fact that Dean had a soul and not actual grace, Dean suspected that Castiel had done a very good job holding a lot of the destruction back, just like he claimed.

“Talk about rocking someone’s world, hey Sammy?” Dean mumbled. Sam’s head lolled back to look up at him with wide, innocent eyes that made Dean feel like he was having a conversation with one of those bobble-head toys on the dashboard of a car.

“I guess I owe you a thank you for that,” Dean added. “If you hadn’t gone and gotten your large ass whopped by some monster-chick, none of this would have happened.”

Sam’s brow knotted together in a confused frown that made Dean’s gut pang with recollection, remembering the puppy-dog look his brother used to throw at him when he wanted Dean to talk about his emotions. He sighed, thinking that oh, what the hell.

“Alright…” He cleared his throat, checking over his shoulder to make sure that Cas wasn’t within earshot before turning back to his baby brother.

“I don’t know how much you’re going to remember from all of this later…Once you get back to your normal, gigantic self, I mean.” He looked down at the child in his arms. “You know this angel-marriage-thing with me and Cas… I can only imagine that you’re going to throw a big, moral hissy fit about it later, with the whole angel versus human deal.”

He threw a quick glance into the kitchen at the angel in question, but Castiel’s mind was still focused on the task of fixing the windows so Dean looked back at Sam, lowering his voice into a whisper.

“Just… I know how crazy it sounds, and believe me, a month ago I would have told myself to get a grip and snap out of it too, but – and God help me for saying this – I actually think this could work, you know?”

In his arms Sam made a low gurgling sound as one of those small hands came up to clutch at the sleeve of Dean’s shirt, while the other took a turn into Sam’s tiny baby mouth, eyes still as wide as before. Dean grimaced.

“Don’t give me that look. How many other people do you know who gets to have an angel for a brother-in-law?”

Sam gave a high-pitched shriek and turned around, straining his neck to catch a glimpse of Castiel inside the kitchen. Then he made a loud smacking noise with his tongue before turning back around with a happy gurgle, patting Dean excitedly on the shoulder and leaving small handprints of drool on his clothes.

“Couldn’t have said it better myself.” Dean agreed and Sam responded by burping loudly.

“Yeah, you’re a real charmer.” He walked up to the crib, putting his younger brother down. Sam immediately rolled over to his side and grabbed hold of his teddy bear, pulling it close and burying his face in it while Dean looked on, leaning his elbows against the wooden railing.

“It’s kind of weird, you know,” he said quietly. Sam’s attention was immediately pulled from the toy in his hands to his older brother’s face.

“Normally, when something like this happens – something good I mean – I’d freak out. Because that’s not know things work, not for us. We don’t get to have nice things like family and friends and…” He trailed off, plucking a little with the cuff of his shirt, trying not to think about that he was about to confide himself to someone who hadn’t even learnt how to digest a solid diet yet.

“But this thing…” he continued. “For the first time, I’m _not_ worried, and that’s… new. I mean, just think about it; how many times has Cas bounced back from all the stuff that’s happened? Even when he _died_ . It’s like a freaking sign or something; like he’s _supposed_ to be here …” Dean sighed, rubbing at his eyes. “I don’t know, maybe I’m overthinking this. The whole grace-thing scrambling my brain… but that’s what it feels like right now, and I’m cool with it, you know? I’m not saying that being married to an angel isn’t something that’s gonna give me the jeebies from time to time, but, fuck, I can deal with that. It’s not like our lives were shaped to fit with the white picket fences and apple pies anyway…”

“Would you like a picket fence?”

Dean’s heart almost came flying straight out of his chest when Castiel’s voice sounded from right behind him. He whirled around, finding the angel standing less than a few feet away, his head curiously tilted to one side and a little smile playing at the corner of his mouth.

“Because I could make you one if it’s of importance,” he declared solemnly, the serious act completely ruined by the amused shiver of wings and bright mirth fluttering through the bond that followed the statement.

“Eavesdropping is usually considered rude, you know,” Dean quipped and Castiel’s wings gave another mirthful twitch.

“Eavesdropping is usually easier to avoid when one’s not constantly connected to another’s mind,” the angel reminded politely. Dean rolled his eyes to the ceiling, muttering a few well-chosen words inside his head.

“And that’s not a very nice thing to say,” Castiel reprimanded and then added with a smirk, “Even though grandiose size of male genitalia is something you humans seem to consider a valuable feature.”

“You know that’s not what calling someone a ‘huge dick’ means right?” Dean asked and Castiel nodded.

“I picked up on that too, yes.”

“Well…” Dean looked the angel up and down, taking a sauntering step forward. “I admit it’s not a _complete_ lie…” he mused. “Who would have known _that_ was hiding underneath all those layers of clothes?” He underlined his words by grabbing hold of Castiel’s belt loops, pulling the angel in closer.

Castiel followed obediently, leaning to the side when Dean moved in to nuzzle against his neck. Dean’s stomach made a small flip when he heard the angel let out a soft sigh in response, the still sensational feeling of being allowed to have the other so close making him feel slightly lightheaded. Could he have this? Like, really have it and keep it?

 _Of course you can,_ Castiel whispered inside his head, and Dean’s grip tightened around the other’s body, as if he was afraid that Cas might pull away in spite of his words.

 _You really think so?_ he asked quietly, and Castiel’s hand came up to brush soothingly against his arm.

 _I told you a long time ago that good things_ do _happen._ Castiel’s nimble fingers moved up to run feathery light strokes up Dean’s neck, and Dean shuddered, allowing Cas to tilt his head up and turn it so that he was looking directly into the angel’s eyes.

 _And this is a good thing, Dean,_ Castiel continued. _Whether you believe it or not._

 _Well, who can argue with that?_ Dean smiled.

Cas answered by pulling his chin down to plant a firm kiss on his lips, which Dean only needed half a second of stunned hesitation to reciprocate. Castiel’s mind was open, moving against his like liquid, electrified silk, giving of the sensation very much like the one the angel’s dark feathers had that very first time Dean had laid hand on them. It felt as if Castiel’s lips were not only touching his mouth, but also his mind, his everything, and damn, Dean never wanted them to stop.

It was a very strange way of kissing, strange in Dean’s opinion being the same as ‘awesome as fuck’, and the excitement that had been dormant ever since they left the bedroom returned with renewed force. He resolutely tore the hand on his chin away with a low growl accompanied by a possessive nip of teeth against the angel’s lower lip. Castiel gasped and then moaned when Dean followed the action up by using his tongue to soothe the bruised flesh, taking advantage of the opening to slide it into his partner’s mouth and ripping a startled groan from the angel’s lungs.

Dean’s hands kneaded Castiel’s hips gently, pressing in closer and letting the angel feel the insistent swell of his growing erection as he rocked them together, one of his hands coming down to grope at the other’s ass, putting even more insistent force into the kiss.

Castiel’s hands suddenly came up to fist roughly at the front of Dean’s shirt and Dean was once again reminded about who and _what_ he was actually kissing when the angel spun him around. In two, very quick steps that may or may not have contained celestial magic, Castiel shoved him up against the nearest wall with a force that literally knocked the air out of his chest.  Dean half expected to get his clothes cleanly ripped off of his body next, but to his combined relief and disappointment, Castiel simply leaned in and dropped his head down against his shoulder.

“As much as I appreciate this activity,” Castiel panted, steadying his breath, “I’m afraid that we’re going to mentally scar your brother within the next fifteen seconds if we do not contain ourselves.”

Dean threw a look over the crest of the angel’s wings and yes, Sam was indeed leaning against the railing of his crib, staring at them both as if they were the most fascinating and at the same time most horrifying thing he had ever seen. Dean groaned, allowing his head loll back and thump loudly against the wall.

“I’m sick of containing myself,” he muttered. Castiel snorted at him.

“In all honesty, neither of us are doing a very good job on that,” he remarked dryly.

“I guess not…” Dean tossed a dirty look at his brother. “Why do you have to be such a prude about everything?” he demanded. Sam’s brow drew together momentarily, as if Dean was speaking a different language that he didn’t understand, and Dean sighed, earning him a soft chuckle from the mouth pressing in against the side of his neck.

“There’s no need to hurry, Dean.” The angel took a step back. “Like you said, there’s plenty of time.”

Dean knew that Cas wasn’t just talking about this, here, right now, or even today. He understood that, but he was still reluctant to let the other go. He also noted that Castiel still hadn’t released his hold of Dean’s clothes, as if the angel didn’t really believe in his own words either.

“Yeah…” Dean mumbled. “There’s plenty of time.” He sighed again and dragged a tired hand over his face, dropping the subject along with his fading arousal. “We still haven’t checked for damages upstairs have we?”

“Not yet,” Castiel confessed. The light flutter of loss Dean felt when the angel’s hands left his body was immediately soothed by the soft touch of grace Cas sent through the bond to compensate.

“Well,” Dean sighed, “Bobby’s gonna be home in less than an hour so… You head on upstairs and I’ll come up once I’m sure Sam won’t throw a complete fit if we leave him alone for a few minutes.”

Castiel nodded and in a blink the spot in front of Dean was empty, quickly followed by the sound of footsteps being heard on the second floor above his head.

“It’s _one_ staircase, Cas!” Dean yelled after him, only slightly surprised that he could actually _feel_ the bond turn smug before he had even finished his sentence.

“Fricking angels…” he muttered, walking over to the crib containing his still staring brother. “And thanks for the cock-block by the way,” he added, “you plan on keeping that routine up when you become a real boy again?”

Sam gurgled something incoherent and casually flopped down onto his back, bringing the hand holding his teddy bear up to stuff the poor toy’s ear into his mouth with a grin.

“Yeah, that’s what I thought,” Dean muttered. “Now, I’m gonna leave you down here for a little while. You think you can manage to stay out of trouble until I get back?”

Sammy gnawed a little on the teddy’s ear, seemingly thinking the suggestion over, and then he made an enthusiastic little kick into the air with his legs and shook the bear around with a happy shriek.

“That’s my boy,” Dean grinned.

He turned around, already moving to follow Castiel upstairs, but something in the corner of his eye caught his attention. He stopped, going back to the spot where he and Cas had been just a minute ago. There, he slowly bent down and picked up five, glistening dark feathers from the floor.

Sam watched him intently from inside his crib. When Dean spun one of the feathers in between his fingers, the light sent reflecting spots of colors dancing around the room, causing Sam to giggle and do his little kick-dance again.

“Guess angel wings weren’t made for rough sex, hey Sammy?” Dean grinned cockily. “Poor guy, I should go easier on him next time.”

Having carefully placed the feathers on top of Bobby’s bookshelf, Dean then gave Sam’s head a quick ruffle before heading upstairs, taking the steps two at the time while feeling extremely satisfied with himself.

/\/\/\/\/\/\

They methodically went over the top floor together, room by room, Dean providing Cas with suggestive smirks and cocky comments about his own bedroom skills whenever they found another window, vase or floorboard with a crack in it.

“Next time, I’m stuffing that tie in your mouth,” Dean chuckled while Castiel patched up the shattered mirror in the upstairs bathroom.

“I told you,” Castiel gruffed, “that reaction was caused by the merge. It won’t happen again.”

“You sure about that?”

Castiel sent a reprimanding look his way, but Dean simply grinned and leaned against the doorframe.

“Dude, your orgasms blow out _windows_ ,” he pointed out. “Like _literally_. You can’t expect me to just leave that alone.”

“My expectations are not that high, I assure you,” Castiel mumbled while he carefully traced the lines of the broken mirror with his finger, watching the cracks seal themselves together behind the digit as if they were never there. “Also, you seem to forget that since we are properly joined now, I can tell that your remarks are not as much meant as ridicule, but a modest way of saying that you approved of my reaction. So I’m afraid I cannot take your mockery seriously.”

“Wow, way to shoot a guy down, Cas…” Dean grumbled, lowering his eyes to the floor, but as his gaze fell onto the worn tiles by his feet his eyebrows drew together in a scowl. He leaned down, sending the angel a worried look.

 _What?_ Castiel asked without even turning away from his task, but then he groaned, reaching up to place the tip of his fingers against his temple. _Slower, Dean, you’re screaming._

_You damn right, I’m screaming! What the hell is this?_

Castiel turned around, coming face to face with Dean, who was glaring him down. The bond was still swimming with echoes of the words just spoken through it, along with a rush of emotions ranging from worry, to fear, to anger, all jumbled into a flurry of confusion. Castiel was about to open his mouth to ask what was wrong when he noticed the object Dean was holding up, and the frown on his face instantly smoothed out when he saw what it was.

_Oh._

“That’s all you can say?” Dean snarled. “ _Oh?_ They’re all over the fucking floor, Cas, look!”

Castiel glanced down and sure enough, in a neat little circle around his feet there was now a dozen of shimmering dark feathers, another one falling down to join its fallen siblings on the floor beneath Dean’s accusing finger.

“You keep telling me that you’re good and that you’re getting your strength back, but how do you explain _this?_ ”

“Dean,” Castiel sighed, “it’s not what you think.”

“Really?” Dean snapped. “Because I found more of these laying around downstairs, just after you used your mojo to teleport yourself up here, and now when you’re fixing the mirror you lose even more? How is that _not_ related?”

Castiel sighed, his wings stretching out to the side and causing more feathers to rustle to the floor.

“My wings are a physical manifestation of my grace, you know this already,” he started.

“Yeah, they are,” Dean agreed, “and right now they’re falling apart!”

“No, Dean, they’re—”

“For Christ’s sake, Cas, what’s _wrong_ with you?”

“I’ve _told_ you, nothing’s _wrong_ , I’m just—” With a frustrated sound, Castiel reached back and buried his hand into his left wing, yanking out a fistful of quills with such force it made Dean cringe inwardly. The angel himself, however, didn’t even flinch. Instead he held out the glistening feathers towards Dean, who took them in silence, feeling the silken touch tickle the palm of his hand.

“In their true form, an angel’s wings are like a personal résumé,” Castiel said calmly. “It tells other angels everything there is to know about one another. Their rank, their powers and their… social status.” Castiel sighed tiredly, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. “Dean, are you familiar with the Green Headed Tanager?”

Dean blinked.

“What the hell is a tanager?”

“It’s a bird.”

Dean’s mind was suddenly filled with the viral image of a bird; small like a sparrow, but with the most luminous, multicolored feathers Dean had ever seen except in cartoon movies. Nevertheless, the undertone of the image Castiel sent him made it very clear that this was indeed a real, living creature.

“It lives in Brazil,” the angel continued as the bird in Dean’s head continued to skip between green branches. “It’s recognized by the colorful plumage they grow during mating season. Once mated, however, the Tanager birds shed their colors and grow another, less eye-catching one.”

The moving image of the tanager inside Dean’s head suddenly shifted, the bright plumage slowly fading into a grey, greenish, dull color that made the once so beautiful bird look downright boring. When Dean sent Castiel the question of why he was being given an ornithology class, Castiel’s eyes flickered towards the floor and the feathers lying there.

“When I manifested my wings here in the physical plane, I had not yet taken a mate. Now that you and I have bonded, my grace is… changing, causing my corporal plumage to change with it.”

Dean took a moment to think this information through, and with a little guidance from the feelings vibrating through the psychic link, the tension in his jaw slowly ebbed out and his eyes widened.

“You’re _molting_?” he asked incredulously, and Castiel actually looked a bit embarrassed by the word.

“Technically speaking,” he grumbled and Dean inclined his head, seeking eye contact.

“Because you’re, like, taking yourself off the Angel Speed Dating Market?” he prompted.

“Yes.” Castiel sent a glance over his shoulder and beat his wings once, sending a whirl of feathers exploding into the air. “Though I have to admit, it causes a bit of a mess…” he sighed, straightening up. “I suppose it was unavoidable.”

Dean looked up, feeling the bond pull slightly when Castiel’s grace focused away from him, building steadily.

“Cas…?” he asked, a hint of the angel’s intentions flickering through the link. “Cas, what are you doing?”

The growing force stilled and Castiel looked at Dean, seemingly surprised at the reluctance he found in the human’s head.

“These wings have served their purpose,” Castiel explained. “I’m returning my body into its original, human state.”

Dean stared at the wings rising over the angel’s head, following the dark arches up and then down to where the large primary feathers were almost brushing against the floor. From there, he looked down at the smaller feathers still residing in his hand, feeling his chest clench tight at the sight of them.

The lilac and green hues were glistening up at him, reflecting the weak light from the lamp above the mirror, and he recalled how they had glistened like oil on water the first time he had laid eyes on them, remembered the dry whisper they had made when Castiel had first spread them out in that creaky, old motel room.

It felt like ages ago, and yet less than a week had passed since the angel had first brought them both to their knees in Bobby’s study, the feathers now residing in Dean’s hand spreading prisms of color over the dark walls. Back when the shock of finding out the angel’s true feelings for him had still wrecked havoc through Dean’s system…

Dean let his thumb slowly slide over the velvet in his hand, watching the fibres stretch and expand from the pressure. Spreading, but never breaking.

“These new feathers of yours…” he mumbled. “Will they be… different?”

Castiel looked at him, and Dean felt the silken touch of the other’s mind brush against his own, a flicker of confusion sparking at the contact.

“They will take on a less… flamboyant visage, yes. “ The angel canted his head, seeking out Dean’s eyes. “They’re still the same wings, Dean.”

“I know, it’s just…”

Again, he felt Castiel’s consciousness move in to touch his, but this time Dean moved away.

It was stupid, he knew it was. Of course the wings would still be the same, they would still be _Castiel_ , but he didn’t like the thought of the angel changing, even though the change was a completely natural, positive thing for Cas to undertake. He just wanted to keep Castiel the way he was, and it was silly and childish, and he knew that it wouldn’t change anything between the two of them, but still… if he could just—   

“What will they look like?” he asked. “I mean for real, in, you know, Heaven?”

Castiel shook his head slowly, a flicker of hesitation flashing through the bond.

“It’s hard to explain…” he said. “They’re more of a feeling than they are a visual impression. For example a person’s individual paradise is based upon a feeling; a sentiment, as is everything in Heaven… but I suppose…” He straightened up. “Close your eyes,” he ordered and Dean obediently complied, feeling a chill rush up his spine when the force of Castiel’s grace flared up like a beacon within his mind.

When Castiel’s fingers ghosted against his forehead, the beacon exploded into a vision of an inky night sky, drizzled with stars and galaxies, moving and swirling as silver nebulas circled one another in a dance that lasted beyond the concept of time. Dean felt his heart fill with peace, an assurance that everything was okay, that things were going to be fine. Awed, he sucked a shaky breath down his lungs that felt like spring rain and tasted like summer sun, Castiel’s grace moving in to caress his soul with a tenderness that made his very insides tremble.

Then, he felt the soft brush of lips against his cheek and he opened his eyes, realizing with a faint sensation of embarrassment that the angel was kissing away a tear running down the left side of his face.

“Is that…?” He cleared his throat, getting rid of the shivering that still lingered in his vocal chords. “Is that what they’ll look like?”

“No.” Castiel shook his head. “That is the best image I can provide using the capacity of human imagination. For you to face them directly, even with the enhanced senses of a mate, would without a doubt blind you forever.”

“I can think of worse ways to go,” Dean breathed, and in response the angel pulled back, head curiously tilted to the side, as if he was truly seeing Dean’s face clearly for the first time.

“You are a remarkable man, Dean Winchester,” he said softly. “I doubt that there is any other human on this planet who would take the prospect of being blinded by celestial powers with such ease… Less than a decade ago, people would have either declared you a saint or burned you on a stake for heresy.”

“Shut up…” Dean muttered, feeling an embarrassed blush threaten to creep up his neck, the thought of him as a saint being both flattering and ridiculous at the same time. In turn, Castiel provided him with an equally ridiculously detailed image of him dressed in a robe with a halo circled around his head.

“Now that’s just scary.” Dean winced, swatting the image away before sighing dejectedly. “So, this whole molting thing… it ain’t all that bad then?”

Castiel smiled, shaking his head softly.

“No, it’s not,” he assured him. Dean sighed again, plucking with the feathers in his hand.

“And what about these?” he asked, holding the feather’s out. “If you send your wings back to Heaven, or whatever, will they disappear too?

“Not by default, no, but I’ll make sure to not leave any of them lying around. I don’t want to cause Bobby any inconvenience.”

“Oh…” Dean shifted his weight from one foot to the other. “Because I was thinking… you know… if you’re going to get rid of them anyway… I thought perhaps…”

Dean’s words caught in his throat, the weight of Castiel’s eyes upon him along with the searching intent of the angel’s grace making it hard to focus on what he was trying to say. Then Cas crouched down and picked up the rest of the feathers lying on the floor before he stepped forward and placed them all in Dean’s outstretched hand, gently bending Dean’s fingers to clutch loosely around the quills.

“Keep them.”

“No, no, I didn’t mean—” Dean stuttered, but Castiel cut him off.

“I want you to have them,” he insisted. “I believe you humans would refer to them as a ‘wedding gift’.”

“Oh…Uh… thanks…” This time Dean was definitely blushing; he could feel the burn on his ears growing hotter by the second. “I— I don’t have anything for you, though,” he tried, attempting to make it sound like a joke, but without succeeding much.

“Don’t worry.” Castiel’s hand squeezed gently around Dean’s fist before letting it go. “You’re a resourceful man, I’m sure you’ll figure something out.”

Something flickered against Dean’s mind as he said it; a warm, tender sensation that sent Dean’s heart skipping inside his chest. He pulled the feathers closer, realizing with a sharp, regretful sting that the wings were actually going. That he would never be able to see them again, or touch them, or—  

“Can I just…?” He reached out, dragging his hand loosely over the outer frame of the nearest wing, for his own sanity’s sake trying to ignore the gentle sigh that came from Castiel at the contact before abruptly pulling the hand back again.

“Look at me,” he snorted. “I’m a complete mess over here… Never thought I’d get sentimental over a pair of feather dusters.”

Castiel smiled and opened his mouth to say something, but whatever it was got drowned out by the loud blaring of a car horn that came from outside, and Dean turned around, startled by the sudden sound.

“Looks like Bobby’s back,” Dean sighed. “You think you can fix the rest up here while I go outside and help—?“

It didn’t hurt like he thought it would, the sight of Castiel; the plain, un-feathered Castiel. Somehow, it felt like a being reunited with an old friend, but it was strange, as if something important to him had suddenly gone missing. In a flutter of panic he grappled for the bond inside his head, letting out a relieved gush of breath when Castiel’s mind met him halfway, psychic fingers curling around his in a gentle, but firm grip.

“I can bring them back, you know,” Castiel said softly.

“Really?” Dean’s head shot up. “Like whenever?”

“Yes.” Cas nodded. “Whenever.”

“Won’t it hurt?” Dean asked, recalling how the original manifestation had seemingly caused the other a great deal of pain. “I mean, last time you looked like you were going to kill yourself,” he added worriedly, making Castiel’s lip twitch in amusement.

“It won’t be a problem,” Cas assured him before turning back to the mirror. “You better go help Bobby, he’s not going to be happy when he finds out that one of the beer bottles broke in the back seat.”

“When the what?” Dean asked, but the next second they both heard something sounding like a loud curse followed by the bang of a car door from the yard outside.

“The beer bottle,” Castiel repeated, once again tracing his finger along the broken mirror in the frame above the sink. “I suggest you bring some paper towels with you, it made quite a mess.”

/\/\/\/\/\/\

Dean expected there to be some sort of interrogation session performed once Bobby got home, but as it turned out, Bobby didn’t want to know a thing about anything that had happened while he was away. He accepted the fact that there were no beddings in the couch with nothing more but a raised brow, and he made no comment on the apparent loss of Castiel’s wings, though the initial look he sent the angel from the corner of his eye was quizzical and perhaps even a bit suspicious.

For obvious reasons, Castiel and Dean decided not to tell the man anything about their kitchen hump session, or that Cas accidentally blew Dean up, or the fact that they were now technically hitched – the latter being something they decided could wait for another day or two, at least until they knew Sam would be okay.

They _were_ however forced to tell him why his pantry and all of his kitchen cupboards had suddenly gone empty. Bobby took the explanation rather calmly, with a healthy mix of horror and amusement, but when Dean explained why the vacuum cleaner was currently lying down by the garage, insides burnt to a crisp, Bobby started laughing so hard he had to sit down.

Dinner was simple – just a few steaks and some roasted potatoes that Cas volunteered to make for them – and as usual it all tasted delicious. Dean tried to make Cas have some of it for himself, but the angel politely declined, saying that he already knew what it tasted like and wasn’t in need of any food. Dean didn’t have the mental strength to argue with him, even though he made a valid point of smacking his lips loudly through the bond as he ate.

“So, let me see if I got the story right,” Bobby said, pointing his fork at Castiel. “You got hit by some wacky monster-mojo, making you powerless.” He shifted the fork to Dean, “This turns you into a walking, talking angel-first-aid-kit, but the only way to make the actual healing take off is for the two of you to, well, get off.”

“Considerate choice of words, Bobby,” Dean grumbled into his glass, but Bobby didn’t grant him as much as a glance.

“So while the two of you struggle with the moral dilemmas of whether to screw the other, keep it in your pants, or stay alive, you manage to fix up five of my worst case cars out back, eat every single scrap of food in my kitchen, _and_ send my deathtrap of a vacuum cleaner on its last voyage…”

“That sounds about right, yeah,” Dean muttered and Bobby shrugged, returning his attention to the last piece of his steak.

“Well, at least you didn’t tear the house down,” he said, and on the other side of the table Dean and Castiel shared a quick, guilty thought through the bond without even lifting their eyes from the table.

After dinner, they all sat down in the study, making sure they had everything they needed to perform Sammy’s ritual for the upcoming night. Castiel and Bobby went through Bobby’s supplies of herbs and talismans, while Dean carried Sam around the room, humming various guitar riffs softly to the child in his arms.

This had so far been Castiel’s job, but when Castiel had appeared downstairs with no wings, Sam had taken one look at him, made a disapproved, smacking noise in the back of his mouth. Then, with surprising accuracy, he had hauled a wooden toy horse at the angel, hitting him square in the chest with it. And who knew; even as a baby, Sam seemed to have mastered the trick of bitch-face no.9, looking at the two of them as if to ask why the hell they couldn’t have kept the wings until he was big enough to get a proper look at them?

Apparently, ordinary, old, feather-less Cas wasn’t as exciting to be around as the winged one.

Once Sam had been put down for his, hopefully, last night of sleeping in the crib, Bobby stretched, yawned, and declared that he was beat after driving all day and was going to bed.

“I take it the two of you are done fighting over the guestroom so… I’ll see you tomorrow.” He started walking towards the door, but stopped, turning back around with a reprimanding finger raised. “And I’m not even going to tell you to keep it quiet down here,” he warned and when he only got two completely innocent looking faces in return from the two males sitting on the couch, he shook his head and disappeared up the staircase, muttering something about ‘idjits’ and ‘should have bought earplugs’.

Dean glanced at Cas, who glanced back calmly and then Dean’s face split into a wide grin.

_You heard the man, Cas. Better keep those lungs in control._

_Bite me, Dean._

Dean’s brows shot up in surprise at the response, and Castiel rolled his eyes to the ceiling.

_I’m inside your head, remember? I must say I find your vocabulary rather… colorful._

“You’re going through my insults?” Dean asked incredulously.

“Amongst other things.”

“Other things?” Dean slid a bit closer, his hand coming to a rest just above the angel’s knee while his lips curled into a mischievous smirk. “Like what, for example?”

Castiel looked down at the hand on his leg, amusement slowly unfurling through the bond.

“Well, _for example_ , I was trying to find out whether or not you had any plans on how to spend the rest of the evening.” A quick glimpse of naked skin and the sensation of heat flashed through the link, the already apparent hint now obvious.

“Yeah?” Dean smirked, his hands moving even further up the thigh, relishing in the contradicting way Castiel did not move as much as a muscle, while the psychic link practically trembled with anticipation. “Find anything useful?”

Teasing fingers tip-toed their way higher, gracing against the seam of the angel’s fly, and Castiel shuddered, eyes sliding shut.

“Yes.”

“Good,” Dean whispered, closing the distance by kissing the angel fully on the lips and cupping him through his slacks, making Cas moan loudly.

“Hey, shh…” Dean grinned, earning Castiel a teasing nip of teeth in return. “Bobby said quiet, remember?”

Castiel’s eyes squinted open, giving him a glare, but they quickly fluttered shut once more when Dean applied more pressure with his hand and started kissing a sloppy trail down Castiel’s neck.

“Dean…” Cas objected weakly, “Sam’s still—“

“Sleeping like a baby,” Dean assured him, already with his other hand snaking its way underneath Castiel’s white shirt. “And if we just keep quiet, he’s going to stay that way.”

Dean knew he should be feeling guilty for initiating something like this while his sleeping baby brother was literally in the same room, but right now, he just wanted _Cas_ , right there and right now, the bedroom feeling like miles away. If Sam indeed woke up, then Dean would not be above asking Castiel to wipe his memory later. He sent the message to the angel through the mind link, along with a slow swipe of his thumb across a peaked nipple. It only took Castiel’s mind between two or three seconds of hesitation before his own hands got on with the program and began pulling at the hem of Dean’s t-shirt.

It was fast, rough and dirty, all hands and mouths and hot breath as they scrambled to make room on the couch, buttons coming undone and clothes being pulled aside in a tangle of limbs. Eventually, Dean managed to get Castiel on his back, shoved up against the armrest, and he yanked the angel’s dark slacks and boxers down to grab hold of the hard member underneath while swallowing Castiel’s moan down with a wicked slide of his lips.

Castiel’s dick was already moist at the tip and the skin quickly went slick when Dean began to pump it. He slowly eased his mouth down the rough stubbles of the angel’s neck once more, leaving a glistening mess of saliva behind, feeling the angel’s pulse race beneath the tip of his tongue. The top two buttons of Castiel’s shirt popped free without much effort and then Dean began suckling at the edge of the angel’s collar bone, grinding down against the cushions to take the edge off for himself.

Suddenly, there was a grip at the side of his jeans, lifting him up, and then – holy shit – Cas shoved his hand down the front of his pants. Dean’s hips stuttered, his breath locking in his chest and fuck, this was not going to last long. If he had to be honest with himself, he had no interest in making it so either. He _wanted_ , wanted right _now,_ and _shit,_ he needed to get his jeans unbuttoned and off before Cas brought this to a too fast and too embarrassing end.

As if he had heard him, Castiel’s hand immediately pulled out and began fumbling with the zipper instead.

“Yeah, yeah, get them off me…” Dean rasped, not really caring that Cas was already a step ahead of him. When his dick finally sprung free from within his underwear and Castiel’s fingers wrapped around him again, Dean buried his moan against the angel’s shoulder, the sensation of Castiel’s grace moving up and down his spine feeling like physical fingers on his body. Castiel’s breath tickled his ear, the ragged sounds falling from the angel’s lips making his gut tighten and causing his head to sear, but they were too loud, much too loud!

“Hold on,” Dean groaned, “Just, hold on…”

He released his grip around the other’s cock, even though the disapproval of Castiel’s thoughts almost made him change his mind. The angel’s protest was then quickly replaced by heavy objection when Dean grabbed hold of the blue silken tie hanging around Castiel’s neck to hold it up to Castiel’s lips like a gag.

 _Told you I was going to stuff this thing in your mouth,_ he grinned cockily. In response, he received a sour glare and a warning spark through the bond, but Dean ignored it.

_I know kinky shit like this turns you on, Cas. Now, are you gonna take this like a good boy or do you want me to force you?_

Like earlier that morning, that same _something_ sparked deep behind those blue eyes when Dean sent the message through the link. This time, it was also accompanied by a pang of arousal so primal it almost had Dean slumping over right there, a close to pained groan making its way up his throat when the angel opened up his mouth and bit down across the tie with a challenging glare.

 _If you deem it necessary,_ Castiel shot back. Dean swore, if he didn’t know any better, he’d say that Cas actually _wanted_ Dean to make him lose control of himself right there on the sofa.

 _You just concentrate on staying quiet,_ he growled competitively. Then he scooted down the other’s thighs and sank his mouth over the angel’s erection, feeling Castiel’s body lock up and hearing the startled moan echo through his head, before it even had the time to get muffled by the silk in Castiel’s mouth.

Dean had never gone down on a guy before, but he had gotten the favor performed for himself enough times to know how to work the basics. Apparently, the basics were more than enough, going by the inhumanly strong hand that suddenly shot down to fist in the hair on top of Dean’s head.

The taste of precum was salty and bitter in Dean’s mouth, but not repulsive even though it was new and unfamiliar. The tang of it only lasted for a few seconds, before his own saliva had cleaned it away, leaving only the taste of warm, wet skin behind. Dean decided that if this was all the fuss of sucking dick was about, then he could definitely get used to it. Especially if Castiel kept being so receptive about the whole deal.

The makeshift gag may have kept the angel from making any unnecessary loud noises, but in turn, the bond was practically exploding with emotions and half broken sentences. Castiel’s eyelids fluttered with each dip of Dean’s head, and Dean swirled his tongue around the head of the erection in his mouth, lapping at the salty liquid that continued to seep from the slit. When he hollowed his cheeks and sucked, the hand Castiel wasn’t using to grasp at Dean’s hair shot up to clutch around the armrest of the couch, seemingly holding on for dear life as Dean continued to experiment with this new, surprisingly effective way of making the angel literally lose his mind.

 _You like that, Cas?_ he mused, grinning around the flesh in his mouth. _Does it feel good?_

Blue eyes peered open and locked onto his from underneath dark lashes, and Dean felt the grace against his mind _shift,_ and—

The moan that ripped out of his throat was almost embarrassingly loud, and the vibrations it caused to travel down the angel’s length reverbed along his own dick in a ripple of pure pleasure, Castiel’s hips bucking up to meet it, and oh god, oh _fuck…!_

Even with his mouth stuffed full of fabric, Castiel actually had the nerve to look smug, and Dean tried to wipe the look off his face by mouthing light teeth just below the head of the other’s erection. He immediately regretted the decision when white spots burst before his eyes at his own action, and he pulled off with a gasp when he realized what was going on.

Castiel, the little _fucker_ , was using the bond to loop the sensations of Dean’s actions back to Dean himself! He was technically making Dean give himself a blowjob, how was that even—?!

_Don’t think so much._

Even Castiel’s thoughts sounded breathless; excited, as if the mere thought of what Dean was currently experiencing was nearly too much for him to take and keep his mind coherent at the same time. It was a sensation that had Dean quickly deciding that if he could come to terms with giving another guy a blowjob, then he sure as hell wasn’t going to let himself be put off by giving one to himself.

Breathing in deeply through his nose, he slowly lowered his mouth down, tentatively lapping at the tip of the erection in his hand and shuddered when his own dick twitched between his legs in response. Oh, it felt good, it felt so, so good. There was no hesitation left after that, really, and Dean swallowed Castiel’s (his) cock down as if it was the greatest reward he had ever been granted in his life.

His mouth was hot scorching heat, and his stubble rasped against the inside of his own thigh, making him quiver. The thought that all of it was what Castiel was currently _feeling_ , that it was what _Dean_ was making an _angel of the lord_ experience, for the first time, made Dean want to take things even further, make it _better_.

In a spur of pure boldness, he relaxed his throat, attempting to take the erection even deeper, and how girls managed to do that and make it look so easy he would simply never know, but oh, holy shit, _fuck,_ did it feel amazing!

His throat worked around Castiel’s dick, around _himself,_ and he knew that if he didn’t pull off soon he would actually end up choking himself, but it felt so _good,_ and Castiel was a quivering-breathing-harshly-through-his-nose-with-his-eyes-screwed-shut _mess_ above him. He wanted to make it last, push it a little further, a little longer, wanted Cas to really _lose it_ in so many ways that he could barely think straight.  

He managed to swallow, somehow, he couldn’t for the life of him remember how he did it, but as he did, he could feel a climax begin to claw its way up his spine. He couldn’t even tell the difference if it was his own or Castiel’s anymore, that’s how connected they were. The question was quickly answered, however, when the angel suddenly bucked his hips again, flexing the fingers buried in Dean’s hair, and nails scratching against his scalp with a desperation that made Dean’s heart race.

_Dean… You have to— Dean, I’m—!_

Dean pulled off and nodded, because he knew, he knew. He quickly dragged himself up, bracing himself on one arm next to the angel’s head while using his free hand to grab hold of them both. The heat of Castiel’s cock pressed in against his own inside the tight circle of Dean’s palm, forcing a silent wince to cross his lips as Dean rocked them together, precum mixing with the slick of his saliva, and they were close, so close, and Jesus fucking _Christ—!_

Castiel’s suddenly lowered his hand down to clench around Dean’s shoulder like a vice, his eyes mesmerized to the spot where Dean’s hand jacked them both off, where Dean’s cock was sliding up against his own, hard and wet. Dean could feel it, actually _feel_ it inside his head when it happened; how the angel’s orgasm shot up and burst from the stiff member in his hand, painting splatters all over the white dress shirt still covering Castiel’s chest. The _sight_ of it, the _vision_ of Castiel’s come dribbling down Dean’s own hand and soiling them both was more than enough to tip Dean over the edge. Pleasure, intense and ravaging, washed over him, and his mouth fell open in a series of short, desperate gasps for air as his release came to add to the mess on the angel’s clothing in white, hot streaks.

The next thing he knew, his arm gave out from underneath him and he came crashing down in between the angel and the backrest of the couch, just barely avoiding to land on top of the sticky mess below with a shaky breath. His chest heaved as he tried to gulp down as much air as he could without making any loud noises, the angel by his side in a very similar state.

For a few seconds, Dean just lay there, every muscle in his body tense and prepared to bolt right up from the couch at the first sign of movement from the floor above, but when no steps came stomping down the stairs, and no sound came floating up from the crib on the other side of the room, he relaxed. Letting out a long, relieved sigh against Castiel’s shoulder, he slumped further down into the cushions, closing his eyes.

“Fuck, that was hot…” he panted, feeling Castiel’s mind gather itself enough to focus on him once more as Cas allowed the tie to fall from his mouth.

“It was… surprisingly pleasant,” he agreed, sounding close to detached. Had it not been for the hazy blank space of lingering pleasure that Dean found where the angel’s normal thoughts should have been, he would have thought that the other was just being sarcastic.

“Yeah, it was a surprise alright,” Dean chuckled, wiping his hand off on the angel’s shoulder. When Castiel turned his head to frown down at the wet stain left behind, Dean just shrugged.

“C’mon, it’s not like one more stain is gonna make a difference. I’ll wash it for you tomorrow.”

“No need,” Castiel said simply. Dean’s entire body made a violent jump when something that felt like a draft from Siberia rushed over his body, and when he looked down upon himself, his hands were clean and his dick neatly tucked back behind zipped jeans. An awed look later confirmed that Castiel’s shirt had indeed also been cleaned, and that his dark slacks were once more back in their proper place, belt and all.

“Now, that’s just cheating,” Dean muttered. Castiel’s brow furrowed at the comment, and Dean smirked. “Had I know you could do that, I would have made sure to make an even bigger mess out of you.”

The angel closed his eyes and sighed, his lip twitching slightly.

“Perhaps some other time,” he bartered.

Dean let out a low chuckle, shaking his head, and then he promptly shoved the angel off the couch. The expected heavy thump he had been expecting, however, remained absent. Instead, there was just a low flutter of wings and then Castiel was standing by the foot of the couch, looking at him with a brow raised.

“You didn’t actually expect that to work, did you?” he asked skeptically.

“C’mon,” Dean said sheepishly. “I had to _try._ ”

“Then may I suggest that you make a new attempt when the bond doesn’t give your intentions away beforehand. Secrets are hard to keep during the first twenty-four hours.”

“Yeah,” Dean snorted. “I noticed.”

Castiel walked up, extending his hand. Dean took it, allowing the angel to drag him to his feet, and after a silent conversation involving whether or not they should make their new relationship undisputedly official by sleeping in the same bed, they decided that Bobby was more than likely expecting them to share the guestroom anyway. Together, they padded out of the study and down the corridor, where Castiel quietly closed the door behind them once they reached their sleeping quarters.

It was a strange thing to undress in front of each other, rather than _by_ each other, now that the prospects of sex efficiently had been put out of the way. When Dean pulled his t-shirt over his head, he recalled that first night back at the motel, where the two of them had shared a bed for the first time, and once again, he marvelled over how things had changed.

Back then, undressing in front of Castiel had been awkward; those eerie blue eyes making him feel both calm and terrified all at the same time. Amused by the thought, he sent the memory through the link, like a sentimental anecdote, and he felt Castiel’s mind gently close around the memory, turning it over to inspect it from every angle.

“You truly felt that uncomfortable undressing in front of me?” Castiel asked, sliding his own shirt off of his shoulders. Dean shrugged.

“Yeah,” he confessed. “I mean, I hadn’t really shared a bed with another guy before… even less a half naked guy.”

“Strange, though…” Castiel mumbled.

“What is?”

“That you would find the thought of _me_ seeing you in a state of undressed awkward. Especially since I had seen you naked before.”

Dean almost tripped right out of his jeans.

_What?!_

The angel looked up, the belt of his slacks already hanging undone.

“Of course,” he said, stepping out of the dark suit pants and folding them neatly over his arm. “I did pull you out of Hell, after all. Though, I have to admit, your body looks far better now than the first time I saw it.”

Dean huffed loudly and quickly climbed in under the covers.

“I sure hope so,” he grumbled. “The first time you saw it, I had been dead for six months.”

“My sentiments exactly,” Castiel agreed as he slid down next to Dean, his naked legs immediately sneaking in to tangle with Dean’s own, before the angel had even settled fully against the pillows.

“Cas, you forgot the lights.” Dean nodded towards the ceiling where the lamp was still shining brightly. Castiel looked up, following his gaze.

“Apologies,” he said, and with a gracious flick of his wrist, the light switch by the door flipped, and the room went dark.

“Show off,” Dean muttered, nestling deeper into the beddings.

“Thank you.”

Dean heard and felt Castiel shift closer to him, and then there was a soft breath ghosting against his lips just before Castiel’s mouth made contact with Dean’s in a quick kiss.

“You should sleep,” Castiel declared steadily, as if he had not just done the cheesy equivalent of kissing Dean good night. “Your body is still recovering from the merge and if you don’t rest adequately, you are most likely to suffer a migraine tomorrow.”

“Cas, I’m _fine_ ,” Dean objected, because he wasn’t going to admit that having the other’s mind slot up against his own felt very much like a cool hand on the forehead when you had a fever.

“You should sleep,” the angel repeated softly. Two seconds later, Dean’s eyelids slid closed, his breath evening out as his body went lax against the sheets. His head lolled over to rest heavily against Castiel’s left shoulder while the angel’s fingers moved in light, gentle circles through the short spikes of his hair, blue eyes studying him fondly. Lovingly.

_I’ll watch over you…_

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading <3 If you'd like to leave me a comment with your thoughts, I'd would really make my day :)


	13. 13

When Dean woke up, he was a bit let down to find that Castiel had already left; the guest room empty apart from his own, still rather sleepy presence. He yawned and stretched, blinking a few times against the light shining in through the window. Then he sat up with a horrified gasp, rod straight with panic clawing at the inside of his chest, because he  _ couldn’t feel it _ ! 

His mind groped for the spot inside his head where Castiel’s presence was supposed to be, but there was nothing. Cas was  _ gone, _ and the once so familiar feeling of being alone inside his head was suddenly the most terrifying thing he had ever experienced in his life. It caused his soul to send a hysteric pulse of fear into the void, calling for the angel’s grace through the darkness, and the response was immediate. Dean’s hands clutched around the covers around his waist when Castiel’s voice sounded from within his mind, faint and distant, as if he was answering him from hundreds of miles away.

_ I’m here. _

_ Cas! Cas what’s happening? The bond—! _

_ It’s still there, Dean, just breathe. Look. _

Something flickered at the outskirts of Dean’s mind, like a lit candle in the darkness, and he turned his attention towards it, reaching out with all he was worth. Just like that, Castiel’s presence was there with him once more, the familiar warmth of grace caressing the edge of his soul with deft fingertips.

“Oh, thank God…!” Dean gasped as he buried his face in his hands, breathing in deeply. He could feel Castiel press in closer against him, an almost consoling tone to his thoughts.

_ I told you the bond would stabilize itself after the first twenty-four hours had passed, _ he reminded softly.

_ Yeah, you said stabilize, not disappear, _ Dean threw back, feeling the embarrassment of having freaked out like that as it began to blossom on his cheeks.

_ It’s not disappearing either, _ Cas assured him.  _ Angels may have a reputation of being patient beings, but even we require some time for ourselves. The bond is still there, not weakened or disintegrated, just sleeping. _

_ Then why couldn’t I find it? _ Dean asked. _ When I woke up, it was gone; you’re the one who brought it back. _

_ You’ll learn to find it on your own, beloved, give it time. _

Dean raised his head from the cradle of his hands, eyebrows arched and an amused smirk slowly curling across his lip.

_ Beloved?  _ he asked slyly, feeling Castiel’s mind do something he could only describe as blush in response.

_ Apologies,  _ the angel mumbled.  _ That was not intentional. _

_ I can tell, _ Dean grinned _ , you’re blushing like a little schoolgirl _ .

_ Thank you for the depiction, _ Cas muttered back, but not even the angel’s testy tone could keep the hot pulse of embarrassment from shooting through the bond along with it. Dean smiled.

_ Is that what you call me?  _ he mused.  _ In your head? _

Castiel’s grace almost seemed to glower at him for a moment, but then the tension eased, slowly getting replaced by genuine surprise.

_ You like it? _ Castiel asked, somewhat dumbfounded.

_ It has a certain ring to it, _ Dean admitted while h settled down onto his back, folding his arms behind his head.  _ It beats being called ‘sweetheart’ or ‘darling’. Just… you know, don’t  _ tell _ anyone that you call me that. Especially Sam, he’ll never let me hear the end of it. _

_ I understand. _ Castiel smiled back at him through the bond, and a part of Dean was suddenly overcome by the intense desire to reach out and touch the corner of the angel’s mouth. Preferably with his own lips.

_ Hey, where are you anyway? _ he asked, silently hoping that the angel hadn’t gone too far.

_ I’m in Israel, _ Cas answered. Dean sighed ruefully because yeah, that was  _ way _ too far.

_ What the hell are you doing in Israel? _ he asked, trying not to make it sound as if he was sulking.

_ There was one ingredient missing amongst Bobby’s supplies that we need for tonight. I was just about to head back when you woke up. _

_ Oh, could you do me a favor and bring me back a falafel before you go?  _ Dean asked, feeling his stomach rumble at the mere thought of food.

_ Bobby bought eggs and bacon for breakfast, _ Castiel objected.

_ C’mon, eggs and bacon can’t possibly compete with a legitimate, native produced falafel, _ Dean argued. _ Please? It’s not like it’s gonna slow you down. _

_ You are abusing your new social stature, Dean, _ Castiel pointed out warningly, and Dean immediately responded by sending him a teary eyed pout through the bond. Cas sighed.

_ Fine, I’ll get you your… falafel. _ The word rolled through the link in a way that made it very clear that Cas was not overly enthusiastic about the thought, but Dean ignored him.

_ Sweet. Thank you! _

He closed his eyes, waiting for the familiar sound of invisible wings to break the silence. After a few seconds, Castiel’s voice sounded inside his head once more.

_ There, I brought it. _

Dean sat up, surprised that he hadn’t heard the angel enter the room, but when he looked around, he found that he was still alone.

_ Dude, are you in the wrong house or something? I can’t see you. _

_ Meals are traditionally taken in the kitchen, Dean, _ Castiel berated.

_ Seriously? I’m not getting breakfast in bed? _

_ That was for when you were sick. There’s nothing wrong with you now. _

_ Wow, thanks for that one. _ Dean rolled his eyes to the ceiling.

_ You’re welcome, beloved. Now, come eat your falafel before it gets cold. _

 

/\/\/\/\/\/\

 

The day passed slowly. 

Bobby spent most of the time buried amongst the papers and scrolls Castiel had provided Dean with while he was still confined to his sickbed, trying to catch up on what exactly they were supposed to be doing once night fell.

Sam played with his toys on a big blanket in the middle of the study, seemingly never growing tired of his teddy bear and big, colorful plastic building blocks. Granted, he couldn’t build with them, not even if his life had depended on it, but he still enjoyed throwing them around. 

Castiel quickly developed a strong interest in the TV, and Dean soon found himself sprawled out on the couch, explaining the plotline of the Dr. Sexy MD marathon that was currently running. It was actually harder than he had expected, and even though Castiel tried his best, he obviously had trouble understanding why a majority of the characters spent most of their time behaving like lovesick rabbits. 

After a few episodes, however, the angel’s mind had become completely submerged in the images flickering across the screen, his consciousness lax and comfortable by Dean’s side. Sometimes, there would be a spark of emotion shooting across the bond, like a colorful burst of firework. They were weaker and appeared with longer intervals than they had the day before, and Dean quickly decided that it had to be the most frustrating thing ever to be subjugated to in the history of mankind.

It was like having your favorite song finally come on the radio, only to have the reception go bad, leaving it choppy and incomplete. It was infuriating, and Dean was desperately trying to compensate for the loss by curling his mind around the shiny little spot inside his head where he and Cas connected with one another, with a close to needy possessiveness.

Normally, he would never in his life have admitted to the fact that the mere thought of losing the bond with Cas made him break out in a cold sweat all over his body, but since Cas could literally read his mind anyway, he didn’t bother trying to hide it. It was new and borderline scary to do so, which in turn made keeping the bond open even  _ harder, _ because admitting to being scared of  _ being scared _ was just about as much embarrassment as Dean could handle at the moment. 

That same morning, Cas had tried to ease Dean’s worries – and possibly spare him this exact humiliation – by telling him that the bond wasn’t going anywhere. That it was, in fact, unbreakable from this point on, but Dean still didn’t feel comfortable enough to let go of it quite yet. 

As of now, they were both sitting on the couch, with Dean reclined on one end like a discarded piece of clothing, while Castiel sat neatly with his hands folded in his lap on the other. The angel’s eyes were intently fixed on the TV, where one of the show’s interns were now running late to a career-threatening surgery, because she was busy being enthusiastically pounded against the wall of the hospital storage by Dr. Sexy’s best friend, also know as Dr. Hottie. The combination of barely there partial nudity and safe camera angles seemed to wake the angel’s interest even further, one part of his mind focusing harder on the scenery before his eyes, while the other searched out Dean’s consciousness through the bond. 

_ That looks pleasant, _ he commented through the link when the camera zoomed in to focus on the way the intern’s legs wrapped around Dr. Hottie’s waist. Dean smirked.

_ I’m sure it is, _ he sent back calmly as he moved his foot to give the angel more room when Castiel leaned against the backrest.

_ I would like to try that with you, _ Cas confided solemnly, as if he was talking about what clothes he would like to wear, but the sentence carried a piece of that dark, sort of musky undertone that revealed that he was in every way being serious.

_ We could do that, _ Dean agreed, sending a quick glance at Bobby on the other side of the room. He knew for a fact that the old man couldn’t eavesdrop on them, but it still felt a bit awkward to have this type of conversation in the presence of someone who was basically like a father to him.  _ It will probably be a bitch to find a wall that won’t cause too much noise for the others’ sake, but we’ll figure something out,  _ he continued. To his surprise, Castiel just let out a low chuckle and turned away from the TV, the blue eyes looking Dean down holding an entirely different kind of want than what Dean had expected.

_ You misunderstand me, Dean, _ Cas said.  _ I have no immediate interest on the subject of vertical lovemaking. _ A fluttering sensation as that of fingertips against his skin skirted along the inside of Dean’s thigh, making his breath hitch.  _ I would like to try  _ that _ with you, _ Castiel clarified.

Dean’s hand fisted in the old fabric of the cushion by his side when the ethereal touch rose even higher, dipping in between his ass-cheeks with sliding pressure. It took all he had not to yelp and arch straight off the furniture right there, Bobby present or not.

_ O—oh… _ he stuttered as his body sunk back down against the couch when the touch of celestial fingers removed itself just as quickly as it had appeared. Castiel was looking at him intently, the normally so bright blue of his eyes now appearing dark and predatory. Dean recalled the look the angel had sent him over his shoulder that day in the kitchen, when the two of them had still been struggling with the split grace fighting to pull them together, and he gulped, feeling his heart somersault inside his chest at the memory. 

He hadn’t really thought about the fact that Cas would be interested in them switching positions when it came to sex. Not because Dean was inconsiderate or naïve enough to think that Cas would be the equivalent of a woman in their new, somewhat fucked up relationship, but because the fact that Dean was – and had never thought of himself as anything but – a  _ man. _ The images Castiel was now feeding him through the link certainly did not mix well with the view he had about himself. 

Castiel’s mind slowly moved closer to his as the angel sensed his hesitation, but when Cas made an attempt to sort through Dean’s thoughts and find out what the problem was, Dean jerked away, slamming the door around his emotions shut with a vicious bang. It made Castiel’s brow knit together in startled confusion, his grace sending out a pulse of injured objection through the bond.

_ Cas…  _ Dean scratched the back of his neck, sneaking another nervous look at Bobby, who still had his nose deeply buried in the scroll over by the desk.  _ Look man, I understand that you’re eager to try out new stuff. I mean, you’re literally the three thousand year-old virgin who finally got a break, but I don’t know if I’m— I mean, I don’t know if I can— _

_ If you’re worried about possible injuries to your body, I can assure you that I would never let that happen, _ Castiel interrupted, seemingly horrified that Dean would even think such a thing.

_ It’s not about that,  _ Dean objected, slightly berated that Cas in turn would think that Dean was turning him down simply because he was afraid of getting  _ hurt _ . Sure, he didn’t  _ like  _ pain, but that really wasn’t the issue here.  _ Listen, _ he said testily, the need to defend his manliness making him feel exposed and just a little on the wrong side of snappish. _ I’ve gotten shot, stabbed and carved open more times than I’d care to think about, it’s not like I can’t take a little pain. _

He looked up when he felt Castiel’s grip around his mind tighten, like fingers experimentally closing around and trying the handle of a door. It was clear that Cas didn’t like the fact that Dean was hiding his thoughts about this from him, because this was about  _ them _ . Their relationship was new, there were so many things they still hadn’t had the time to discuss, or even mention, and Dean could feel it when a light tremble of fear coursed through the angel’s grace; a fear that Dean was behaving like this because he thought there was something wrong with  _ Castiel _ . 

_ This has nothing to do with you,  _ Dean winced, because seriously, that was just ridiculous.

_ Then what is it that scares you so? _

_ I’m not scared, _ Dean snapped, remembering too late that his own tight grip around the bond pretty much enabled the angel to hear and feel that he was lying just as clearly as he could see him. _ I mean I— It’s not like I’m  _ scared _ , it’s just— For fuck’s sake Cas, you just told me you want to shove your dick up my ass, what do you expect me to say? _

_ I  _ expect _ nothing, _ Castiel answered firmly.  _ I expressed a desire, nothing more. _ He waited, but when Dean remained quiet, he turned towards him with a sigh.

_Dean…_ _I’m sorry if I crossed a line just now, but please, don’t make the mistake to think that I can’t tell when I’ve upset you. There’s more to this than just me catching you off guard, but I can’t do anything to help, unless you tell me what’s wrong._

The angel reached out a hand and ran it gently across the side of Dean’s face to thumb at the ridge of his cheekbones with an adoration that echoed through the bond. It made the air in Dean’s lungs shrink and his chest draw tight around his pounding heart when Castiel’s eyes locked onto his.

_ So don’t lie to me, beloved... _ Castiel’s mind whispered softly.  _ There is no need for that. _

Fuck, suddenly Dean felt so stupid. If there was one person on this entire godforsaken planet that would never judge him for his feelings, then Cas was that person, had  _ always _ been that person. Now, he felt as if he had just given the angel a punch in the face; the shame of his behaviour burning hot in the back of his throat. 

He closed his eyes against the intensity of the Castiel’s gaze, unable to face him directly. Even though he kept the barrier around his emotions up, he still felt as if Cas was able to see straight into the centre of his very soul – those eyes the same stomach-flipping, pulse-racing blue that had always caused Dean’s focus to fly right out the window.  

Dean had never been good at sharing his thoughts, not with Sam or with anyone, but Cas… Even before the merge, the angel had always been able to tell just what was troubling him and had always been there to help. Even when Dean had not offered him as much as a scrap of gratitude in return, and he  _ couldn’t _ deny him this, he simply couldn’t. 

The hand against his face shifted, strong fingers moving back to slide against the nape of his neck and when Dean opened his eyes, Castiel was still looking at him. His head was canted slightly to the side, like the very epiphany of concern. With a breathy sigh, Dean let the walls around his thoughts fall and crumble to the ground, allowing Castiel in once more.

He watched as the angel’s brow furrowed, blue eyes squinting as Cas sorts through his thoughts. Dean could feel the other’s mind switch from confused, to intrigued, to something he could only describe as surprise. His own ears slowly turned blazing hot the longer the other looked at him, and when Castiel’s grace finally pulled back, he was certain that his face had never been this vicious shade of red in his entire life.

_ Dean… _ Castiel whispered, and Dean’s jaw clenched tightly.

_ I know,  _ he groaned.  _ Please, can we just let it go? _

_ I didn’t realize that it made such a difference, _ Castiel apologized, making Dean snort.

_ Well it does. I mean, it… it’s probably not a big deal, not really, but I— It’s just— _

_ It matters to  _ you _ , _ Castiel finished and Dean nodded, still staring down at the cushion by his side.

_ A bit, yeah. _

The angel sighed, leaning back against the couch.

_ I would like to tell you that I understand,  _ he offered slowly, _ but I’m afraid I don’t. _ He looked at Dean, licking his lips.  _ You know I would never have brought it up if I had known how you felt about it. _

_ Jeez, Cas, don’t do that. _ Dean rolled his eyes to the ceiling, still without looking at the angel as he did so.  _ You couldn’t have known, and I… reacted like an idiot. _

_ You reacted like your emotions told you to; there is no shame in that,  _ Castiel objected firmly. _ However, I don’t see how lying on your back during sex would render you any less of a man. It makes no sense. _

_ It’s not about who’s lying where, Cas, okay? _ Dean groaned.  _ It’s about the… the whole spreading out and taking it like some kind of— _

_ Woman? _ Cas finished challengingly. Dean shot him a dirty look from the corner of his eye, making the angel sigh once more.

_ Dean, I don’t wish to put you in a situation where you’re not comfortable, you know that. _

_ Yeah, you’ve told me that before, remember?  _ Dean muttered. _ And look where we are now. _

At that, Castiel frowned, making Dean shift nervously in his seat.

_ I mean,  _ Dean clarified quickly, _ three weeks ago I freaked out just thinking about  _ kissing  _ you, and now…  _ He looked at Castiel, the memory of how just being close to the angel used to make him feel nervous and jumpy, now seemingly without reason.  _ Listen, all I’m saying is that what freaks me out today… Well, it might not freak me out tomorrow? You understand what I’m getting at here? _

Castiel’s face remained confused for another few seconds, his gaze intently locked on Dean’s eyes. Then those full lips moved into a near invisible smile and he nodded once, slowly, making Dean relax and release a relieved chuckle in response.

“If the two of you are done making googly eyes at each other, there’s a bewitched child who’s going to start screaming for his lunch in about ten seconds unless someone gives it to him.” Dean ripped his eyes away from Castiel’s face with a guilty pang in his gut when Bobby’s voice came floating from across the room. Castiel, on the other hand, didn’t seem to mind the fact that Bobby had been the live audience to their little ‘moment’. Instead, he simply braced his hands against the couch to stand up and do what Bobby had suggested, but he didn’t get far before Dean pushed him back down with a firm hand against his chest as he stood up himself.

“I’ve got it,” Dean assured him. “You keep watching your series.”

_ Who knows, maybe you’ll pick up something useful for later? _ he added, quickly moving away to hide a grin when the grace coming from behind him responded by lighting up the bond with a sharp pulse of surprise. It was immediately followed by a wave of raw sexual desire so intense it would have literally floored Dean on the spot, had he not been expecting it.

Man, who would have known angels were so easy to wind up?

 

/\/\/\/\/\/\

 

The toughest part about the ritual, as it turned out, was the one where they had to make Sam lie still in the middle of the large area that Dean and Bobby had cleared on the ground earlier that day. 

The child in question, who up until that moment hadn’t shown any tendencies to become an aspiring escape-artist, suddenly seemed dead set on the task of crawling out of the clearing as soon as they put him down inside it. In the end, when Dean had retrieved the naked runaway for the sixth time in less than ten minutes, Castiel fixed the issue by simply flicking his wrist towards the child, causing him to immediately fall asleep mid-crawl. 

After a quick conference, they also went inside to fetch a sheet from Bobby’s closet to cover the naked baby up, seeing as he would hopefully not remain a baby for much longer. They all agreed that the younger Winchester would probably like to keep as much dignity as he could, once he woke up.

The moon was out, something Dean was very grateful for. Castiel had assured him that the ritual would work just as well whether it was cloudy or not, but seeing the silver globe hanging there in the night sky was still a much welcomed reassurance. The shadow of the earth had already crawled halfway across the white orb, and it would be less than fifteen minutes until it would go completely dark, giving them exactly the amount of time they needed to get their preparations done.

Castiel would be reading the actual spell – something they had all quickly agreed upon when it turned out that it was written in a language that went extinct about two hundred years before Noah started building his famous ark. A project, which, according to Castiel’s sarcastic eye roll, apparently had resulted in more of a leaky float rather than anything remotely resembling the mighty ship the Bible spoke of so fondly.

In addition to the spell, they also needed myrrh, hawthorn, and the powdered Maritime Squill that Cas had acquired from a specific mountain in Israel. They would also have to use blood from a member of the cursed individual’s bloodline, which Dean provided with a quick slice to the palm of his left hand. It wasn’t the most convenient of places to make a cut, but he didn’t need to worry about it for long since Castiel reached out and healed him with a lingering touch to his fingertips immediately afterwards. Then the angel proceeded with mixing the different ingredients into a ceramic bowl, muttering foreign words under his breath before eventually straightening up. 

“The two of you might want to stand back for this,” he suggested, giving the two men a look over his shoulder before he slowly stepped into the clearing to kneel down next to the child on the ground. Dean watched as Castiel dipped his thumb into the bowl and proceeded by drawing a single, vertical line reaching from the top of Sam’s head down the ridge of his nose. After that, he retrieved more of the mixture to add a spiralling circle directly over the child’s heart.

Dean knew better than to ask annoying questions during situations like this, but he couldn’t stop the nervous flutter that appeared in his chest when he watched the angel spread the remaining content of the bowl into a circle around his brother. He glanced up at the moon, almost expecting to hear the ominous rumble of thunder when the last, shining edge of it was swallowed up by the dark, the once so bright orb now glowering red as if reflecting the blood on the ground before them.

Without thinking about it, his mind reached towards the angel, and he felt his worry ease when Castiel tightened the grip of the bond in a quick, reassuring squeeze before he returned to the task at hand. Dean could feel the way the focus of Castiel’s mind turned to Sam’s sleeping form as the angel opened his mouth and began reciting the spell.

The words were low and reminded Dean of some of the Enochian phrases he and his brother had come across in the past, but they flowed in a way that the angelic language simply didn’t. They contained more vowels, syllables that weaved in and out of the air like fallen leaves caught in a gush of wind. If he had to elaborate, he’d say that it sounded almost like that elvish language from the Lord of the Ring movies, which in turn suddenly made that fellow Tolkien look a whole lot more suspicious…

At first, nothing seemed to happen, and for a few heart-stopping moments, Dean was convinced that it had failed. That his brother was now doomed to spend the rest of God knows how long as an infant. He looked at Cas, contemplating whether or not he should ask what happened, but then his eyes caught on the faint shimmer coming from the blood on the ground.

As he watched, the circle around Sam began to gleam in the darkness, the light slowly growing stronger until the circle looked as if it was made out of hot embers from an open fire.  The symbols on Sam’s skin seemed to mimic the light as they spread a warm, golden glow over the scene. Castiel’s voice grew louder, the words coming out faster, echoing across Bobby’s backyard like waves breaking the surface of the ocean, and Dean sucked in a sharp breath through his teeth, eyes widening when the small body underneath the washed-out sheet slowly began to change.

It was like watching one of those fast forward videos of flowers growing on the Discovery Channel; the infant form before their eyes stretching and thickening until Dean found himself staring at the face of a brother he hadn’t seen since he was sixteen years old. The light around the angel and the boy seemed to crackle and grow, flickering like roaring fire over Sam’s face. A face which kept on changing, growing longer and more chiselled, a teenager’s features flashing by for a split second, before the glow forced Dean to close his eyes against the blinding light.

Dean had no idea how long it lasted. The scorching brightness on the other side of his eyelids prevented him from opening his eyes as the seconds ticked by, and his heart was banging inside his chest, the sound of his own pulse echoing like war drums through his head. He needed to  _ see _ , damn it!

Then Castiel’s voice rang out, and the last syllables echoed through the air as the spell ended, a hollow, foreboding silence settling in its place. As if someone had turned a switch, everything went dark once more, and when Dean opened his eyes he was met with the sight of Sam’s familiar, adult face. The bulky silhouette of his brother’s body was still covered by the sheet, lit up only by the faint sliver of light coming from the moon above where the red shadow had now begun to fade. The flaming circle on the ground was nowhere to be seen, and the symbols on Sam’s chest and forehead had completely disappeared, vaporized into nothing as if they had never existed.

Holding his breath, Dean watched Castiel reach out and place two fingers gingerly against Sam’s forehead, and he felt the other’s grace give off a low whisper when Cas sent his consciousness into the younger man’s mind. Two seconds later, the silence exploded as Sam sat up with a sharp yell and scrambled to his feet in panic, clutching the sheet tight against his body as if he was having trouble determining whether he should use it as a weapon or strangle it. He stared at the three of them, eyes wide and startled as he gulped down deep breaths of air like he had just woken up from a horrible nightmare.

“Sam?” Dean called out softly, taking a tentative step forward. His brother’s wild gaze immediately turned to focus on him with sharp, hostile eyes that held no recognition whatsoever, his entire body tensing up in response to his older sibling’s voice. Dean stilled.

“Sammy..?” he repeated while reaching his mind out for Castiel’s to find out what the hell was going on, feeling the panic rise like bile in his throat. “Sammy, you alright?”

Something flickered behind the glaze of Sam’s eyes, just a tiny spark of recollection before the lights seemed to come flooding back in. He blinked, and his body swayed dangerously from side to side.

“Dean…?” he croaked, voice hoarse and strained in the dark. “Dean, what—” He cut himself off with a groan as he brought his hand up to clutch around his head. By now, Dean was screaming for Castiel’s grace, but the angel remained calm, wordless and silent like a statue.

“Alright. Alright, just breathe,” Dean urged, easing another step forward, “You’re okay, Sam, everything’s fine.”

Sam took a deep, shaky breath, following Dean’s instructions obediently. Dean could see the sweat that had begun to bead at the taller man’s temples in small droplets that glistened in the light of the full moon above, and Sam’s eyes carried an almost feverish gleam when he looked up to meet Dean’s gaze.

“What happened..?” Sam groaned, “What did—” His eyes suddenly widened and he whipped his head around, staring around the yard as if expecting there to be an attack coming at any second. 

“The witch!“ he gasped. “The witch, she changed! She’s—!” He whirled around, but whatever words he had been about to utter seemed to shrivel up and die at the tip of his tongue when he spotted Bobby, who was still standing silent on his left side. He blinked at the older man, as if not really believing what he was seeing. Then his eyes slowly travelled down the length of his own body, and that’s when he finally seemed to realize that he was standing stark naked, outdoors, in the middle of the night with only a sheet clutched in his hands. Quickly, he secured the fabric tightly around his waist, turning around to stare at his older brother once more, confusion lighting up his face like a billboard.

“Dean…?” He swallowed hard, the tip of his tongue darting out to moisten his dry lips. “Where the hell are we?” 

Dean shot Bobby a quick look from the corner of his eye, but the older man simply shrugged in return.

“What do you mean, ‘where are we?” he asked. “We’re at Bobby’s. We’ve been here for almost three weeks now.”

“Bobby’s?” Sam rasped.

“Yeah, don’t you—” Dean started, frown deepening as he stepped closer. “Sammy, don’t you remember anything?”

Sam shook his head, the pace of his breathing slowing down momentarily as he stared down at the ground by his naked feet, seemingly straining his mind to think back.

“I remember this bright light,” he said eventually. “And then… God, it’s all so blurry, just flashes and glimpses… But you were there, and Cas was— And he had like, these big, black wings…”

“Well, at least you’ve got that one down,” Bobby snorted. Sam gaped  at him as if Bobby had just told him he overslept and missed Christmas.

“Cas had wings?” he breathed, turning to stare at Castiel, who met his look with seemingly calm curiosity. The bond, on the other hand, was practically tingling with the angel’s amusement, as if Cas was watching a child lose its composure over a new toy. It made Dean snicker, and Sam’s gaze immediately shifted to land on him instead.

Dean could literally see the memories slowly slot into place inside his younger brother’s head when Sam’s eyes widened almost comically as a shocked, close to horrified expression settling over his face. His hand came up, pointing a single finger at Dean with a choked out wheeze, only to redirect the digit towards Cas with a disbelieved squawk a split second later.

“You— You and Cas…!” he gaped and Dean raised his hands up with a nervous chuckle.

“Okay, now, this really ain’t as bad as it—” 

“ _ You kissed Cas _ ?” Sam blurted out and Dean lowered his arms again, rolling his eyes to the sky with a groan.

“Seriously, of all the things, you had to remember  _ that _ one first...” he muttered under his breath. Then he shrugged, throwing his arms out in surrender. “Yeah, we kissed…” he admitted, “Though, I was sort of hoping you wouldn’t remember any of that...” he added when he saw the disbelieving way Sam was staring at him. “Sam,” he sighed. “Look… I know it’s going to sound  _ beyond _ weird, but me and Cas… we’re sort of…” He flickered a glance at the angel by his side, “… together.”

“Together?” Sam looked as if he hadn’t even heard of the word before, and Dean’s heart sank in his chest.

“Yeah, as in… you know, like— We’re sort of— Oh, what the hell, we’re married, okay?”

“ _ What _ ?” Sam croaked and from behind him Bobby gave an impressed little whistle.

“I mean, we’re not  _ married _ , married!” Dean objected quickly. “Not like, with the church and the rings and crap like that, it’s more of a…” He grappled for the words, “…soul versus grace thing and we— We have this telepathic thing going on too. I’m still trying to get the hang of it myself, but it’s not all that bad and— Uh, it’s like—Fuck, Cas, a little  _ help  _ here?”

Dean turned to the angel with a helpless whimper when Sam simply continued to look as if he was getting ready to faint right there on the spot the longer Dean kept talking. Castiel obediently turned towards Sam, his face calm and almost tender.

“Dean and I are mates,” he explained calmly with a pleased glance in Dean’s direction.

“Mates?” Sam slurred, still with a firm grip around the sheet around his waist.

“Yes. Mates,” Cas repeated. “We are joined together on a spiritual level beyond human conception. I believe the closest human kind have gotten to name the process itself is ‘wedding’, though as I’ve already explained to your brother, that does not even come close to describe what it really is. The Host calls it the  _ Aisro de Poala, _ meaning the ‘Promise of Two’, but in all honesty, that’s just another name for a thing that cannot be defined.”

He looked at Dean again; affection and pride beaming like a spotlight at him through the bond, and Dean quickly turned away with a flustered smile and a cough.

“And this ‘Promise of Two’?” Bobby grumbled, “What does it mean, exactly?”

“It means that Dean and I are tied to one another,” Cas said. “That his soul is bound to my grace and vice versa. Hence the psychic connection Dean spoke of just now.”

“Dean…?” Sam looked at Dean, almost pleading, as if he was expecting them all to reveal the whole thing as a bad joke at any given second. Though, when Dean simply nodded in response, he let out a long, shaky breath, turning his eyes to the ground once more.

“There is no need to worry, Sam,” Castiel assured him calmly. “In a sense, your brother has been tied to me from the moment the two of us first met.”

_ What? _ Dean choked. Immediately, he felt grace skirt up the side of his arm to splay gently over the handprint residing on his left shoulder. Yeah, he realized; being pulled out of the fiery Pits of Hell by an Angel of the Lord was probably as good a proposal as any. He gave Castiel a quick smile, and shivered when the ghostly sensation of fingers began to draw devout little circles across the scarred tissue of his arm in return.

How did the bastard do that anyway? Dean had felt grace as a physical sensation before, when the grace had fought to escape his body, but this was the second time today that Cas had intentionally used it to mimic the touch of actual hands. He would probably have asked about it, had this been any other time, but with the way Sam was looking at them right now, he really didn’t have the time to linger on some silly angel quirk.

“Yeah, Sammy, there’s no need to worry,” he repeated instead, resisting the urge to reach up and itch the mark on his arm, because the grace  _ tickled _ , dammit. “It’s not that big of a change really, just… Well, we might have to cash out for separate rooms on hunts from now on, but other than that, things are just as they’ve always been. Okay?” He canted his head down, trying to catch his brother’s gaze, but Sam was still staring at the ground by his feet, looking as if he was about to throw up.

“Sammy…?” Dean repeated and Sam nodded, blinking slowly.

“Yeah…” he mumbled, “Yeah I—I think I need to sit down...”

“C’mon, it’s not  _ that _ bad,” Dean objected, feeling as if he had just received a punch to the gut, but Sam just shook his head as he brought his hand up to rub against his left temple.

“No, Dean, I mean that I  _ really  _ need to… sit down. I’m— Oh, God, my head…”

Both Bobby and Dean were moving before the taller man had even finished his sentence. Though, when Sam’s knees went out from beneath him, they still just barely managed to catch him in time to keep him from toppling to the ground.

“Cas!” Dean yelled, but Cas was already there. In a blink, the four of them had been relocated to Bobby’s living room, where the two men staggeringly managed to drag and place Sam’s rather large body onto the couch.

“What’s wrong with him?” Dean demanded as he knelt down on the floor with his hands skimming over Sam’s chest, looking for cuts and injuries that weren’t there. They stilled when he felt the reassuring touch of Castiel’s mind soothe the panic rushing through his own.

“He’s just tired, Dean,” Castiel promised. “His body grew more than 25 years in less than two minutes. He needs sleep.”

“Sleep?” Dean repeated, his body tense and still ready to assume the worst. “For how long?”

“He’ll wake up sometime tomorrow.” Dean felt Castiel’s mind sweep past him for a quick moment, before it pulled back again. “Around 2 pm.”

“So, he’s okay?” Dean insisted. “He’s not dying or anything?”

“He’s fine, Dean,” Castiel said, a light frown appearing on his face. “Though, I should probably warn you; when he wakes up he’ll most likely have a craving for more food than what you should let him eat. His brain may not remember it, but his stomach is still accustomed to nutrition coming from a jar. Too much solid food could make him sick. Other than that, he’s perfectly alright.”

Dean nodded, his head falling down to hang between his shoulders as his hands fisted the cushion beneath his brother’s body in relief.

_ It’s over, beloved, _ Castiel whispered soothingly, and finally, for the first time since dark fell over Sioux Falls, Dean felt like he could breathe again. He let out a slow, shaky sigh that felt like it had no end, his entire body seemingly melting down onto the floorboards with a silent thud. 

Sammy was alright. 

His brother was going to be okay.

He choked out a strained laugh, leaning his head heavily against the armrest of the couch. When Castiel’s hand came to rest upon his shoulder, he closed his eyes and reached up to grab it, pouring every inch of his gratitude and relief through the bond while Castiel’s thumb moved to silently caress the back of his hand in response.

It was finally over. 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading, you guys. I hope you all had a great week so far <3  
> Let me know your thoughts in the comments below, and I'll see you for another chapter next Thursday! :D


	14. 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for taking so long, guys. Things have been hectic around here, and finding time to even get stuff done around the house is hard.  
> I'm okay though. Some of you have left me wonderful messages asking me if I'm alright, and I am. I'm sorry I haven't been able to get back to you yet, but I will. You don't have to worry about me, promise <3 
> 
> So, I'm really gonna do my best to get the next chapter up on time, but I still have work (final week) and I don't know what hours I'll be working yet, so yeah, there's that. I'll really try, though. :)
> 
> In the meantime, please enjoy this week's chapter, okay? <3  
> Much love!

Dean ended up spending the rest of the night on a mattress next to Bobby’s couch, with Castiel pressed in like a solid, comforting weight against both his back and mind in the darkness. Dean was fully aware of the fact that the angel didn’t need sleep, but when Cas had retrieved their pillows from the guestroom and tossed them down onto the rest of the beddings with a close to defiant look at him, as if daring him to say anything about it, Dean had accepted the situation without a word. 

As they got ready for the night, Sam continued to snore his way through the evening from his spot on the couch, seemingly safe and sound, while Dean tried to keep himself from checking in on his brother every two minutes. Despite Castiel’s patient reassurances, Dean had had not been willing to leave Sam’s side, just in case something turned out to be wrong, and even as they went to sleep, he had been thoroughly convinced that he wouldn’t be able to sleep at all. He bluntly refused to let Cas mojo him unconscious, but in spite of his resistance, he had still ended up dozing off sometime after three AM. He didn’t wake up until the intoxicating smell of food originating from the kitchen roused him from his dreamless sleep at around eleven o’clock the next morning. 

The bond inside his head was gone when he opened his eyes, as was Castiel, but this time he didn’t panic like he had the morning before. Instead, he took a few seconds to search out and find that little otherworldly glimmer at the outskirts of his mind, and once he did, it only took a little push to make the bond flare up again, bright and clear as always. The success made him feel close to ridiculously pleased with himself, and he continued to practice opening and closing the bond a few times until an annoyed pulse from the angel inside the kitchen told him to cut it out.

Bobby was nowhere to be seen, which meant that he was most likely already out back, working in the auto shop. Sam was still sleeping peacefully on the couch, snoring loudly. Sometime during the night, he had turned over in his sleep and ended up with both legs hopelessly tangled in the sheet still tied around his waist, his left arm twisted into a most peculiar angle beneath his head, but the sight didn’t worry Dean in the slightest. Sam had always been one for tossing and turning into the most hilarious sleeping positions, and seeing him lying there, limbs mildly contorted on the couch, was more of a confirmation that everything was back to normal than anything Dean could have hoped to find. He even caught himself contemplating on whether he should snap a picture of the scene with his phone, just so that he could show his brother later once he woke up, but the smell of breakfast won over his mischievous streak. He decided that the photo session could wait until he had gotten something to eat.

Cas made an awesome breakfast, like always, even though at this hour it was technically considered lunch. It made Dean feel all kinds of warm when he saw the angel had deliberately set a plate of eggs and bacon aside for Sam to eat later, and he was about to open up the bond to share that grateful feeling when a certain memory from the day before made him change his mind. So instead, he reached out, focusing on the back of the angel’s neck with all he was worth. He tried to imagine his hand slide up to tickle a spot just below Castiel’s ear, picturing for his inner vision how his fingers brushed over the soft skin of his neck and then up to tangle affectionately into the angel’s dark hair. It took a few tries, but then Castiel suddenly straightened up, a sharp spark of surprise opening up the psychic link between them. Slowly, he turned away from the stove to look at Dean with a close to awed expression on his face.

_ You learned that quicker than I expected. _

_ You knew I could do this? _ Dean asked, the grip of his phantom fingers slipping slightly when his concentration was diverted.

_ I suspected it, _ Cas admitted.  _ When it comes to the subject of your abilities, I can only guess what you’ll be capable of, given time. _

_ It was actually a lot easier than I thought it would be, _ Dean remarked, underlining the statement by letting his new, incorporeal hands slide down to brush over the angel’s shoulder blades. He could actually feel how the other’s body shivered in response through the bond, physical and psychological sensations mixing together inside his head.

_ Can I do this to other people?  _ Dean asked, suddenly excited. _ Like, can I give Sam a celestial kick in the ass if I want to? _

_ No. _ Castiel smiled, genuinely amused. Dean deflated with a sigh, that single word causing millions and millions of golden opportunities to slip between his fingers, but then he looked up, a mischievous smirk playing on his lips.

_ Guess that makes you my only playmate then, huh? _ he teased. Castiel’s mind answered with an intrigued interest that Dean immediately responded to, by sending him the image of Dean, sexually and invisibly molesting him against the sink all the way from the chair he was sitting on. Castiel’s brow rose up into a delicate arch of both surprise and approval, and then Dean nearly dropped his coffee cup into his lap when fingers that shouldn’t possibly be able to fit down there cupped him firmly from the inside of his trousers.

“Shit…!” Dean cursed, and his hand found the edge of the table as he barely managed to suppress the surprised squawk that wanted to fight its way up his throat.

_ You did that on purpose, you feathery bastard, _ he accused. Even inside his head, his voice sounded flustered, and Castiel smirked a confirmation through the bond that made Dean snort out a disbelieving chuckle.

_ Wow, if only the Bible had mentioned a few more angels like you, it would have been a freaking bestseller... _

_ The Bible is the most purchased book in the world, Dean, _ Castiel informed him calmly, but Dean waved him off.

_ You know what I mean. Point is, you’re one dirty birdie, Cas. _

_ If that was a reference to my wings then I would like to inform you that they are rather clean. _

Castiel shot him a dirty look, squinting his eyes at him as if offended by the accusation, but Dean could sense that the angel knew exactly what he was talking about. He just smiled back, letting a few groping touches flow through the bond and then Castiel sighed, closing his eyes.

_ Dean, this is really not the time. _

_ What? _ Dean objected, letting his invisible thumb dip down to seductively circle the jut of Castiel’s hipbone. _ It’s not like anyone can see. _

_ You have to forgive me, but your facial expression is not exactly unreadable,  _ Castiel said dryly.

_ I can keep my mask on. _

_ Is that so? _

Dean’s entire body tensed when he felt the unmistakable sensation of a hand rubbing suggestively against his balls, and his grip around the cup in his hand tightened with an indignant gasp. He was about to cover his reaction up with a sarcastic comment, but when he felt Castiel’s smug response to his involuntary sound echo through the bond, he straightened up, narrowing his eyes at the angel.

_ You really wanna play this game with me, Cas?  _ he asked challengingly.  _ Bobby and Sam are not stupid; you’re going to need a good poker face to pull something like that off. _

_ I’m sure that my facial features won’t be a problem, _ Castiel answered confidently, turning back to the kitchen counter.

_ Oh, yeah?  _ Dean retorted with a snort.  _ Not even if I make you cream your pants right in front of them? You think you could handle that? _

_ You think I can’t? _ the angel shot back over his shoulder, and yeah, this was officially so fucking  _ on _ .

_ I’m gonna make you regret this,  _ Dean leered, but Castiel only granted him an amused snort in return. Dean was about two seconds away from giving the angel a taste of exactly what he meant, when a low rustle from behind his chair pulled him back to the present. He turned around, eyes wide when he found Sam leaning heavily against the doorway to the kitchen, sheets in a firm clutch around his waist, and a hand rubbing tiredly across his face.

“Sammy?” Dean was out of his seat in a split second, ready to do whatever might be needed of him in case Sam was still out of it, but when Sam looked up, his eyes were clear and sharp. The smile he sent Dean’s way was genuine, albeit slightly confused.

“Hey,” he greeted hoarsely, voice still thick with sleep, “I see you started breakfast without me?”

Dean turned around to look at Cas.

“I thought you said he wouldn’t wake up until two?” he bickered, barely avoiding making it sound as if he was accusing the angel of deliberately giving him incorrect instructions.

“ _ Around _ two,” Castiel corrected calmly, sending a nudge of his grace through the bond that made Dean sway a little on the spot while the angel glanced at the clock over the kitchen table. “I was only a few hours off.” 

“A few hours off…” Dean repeated under his breath, turning back to his brother, who was looking at the two of them with a brow raised in amusement. Dean quickly cleared his throat.

“So, how are you feeling?” he asked, motioning towards his brother’s still half-naked body, “Everything working okay?”

“Actually, I feel fine,” Sam nodded, halting a moment to stretch out his neck and roll his shoulders back, working out the lingering kinks caused by his contorted sleep. “A little stiff, that’s all.”

“Well, with the way you were sleeping, I’m not surprised,” Dean chuckled. “For a while there, you looked like some kind of circus freak.”

“Thanks, that’s the impression I was going for,” Sam answered with an eye roll. For a moment, Dean was extremely tempted to ask his brother if he was still flexible enough to shove his foot in his mouth, but he decided to save that one for another time.

“Well…” Dean looked the taller man up and down, “I’d give you a hug, but….” He motioned to the sheet clutched in his brother’s hand and Sam chuckled, nodding in agreement.

“Yeah, I… uh… couldn’t find my bag so…” He threw his hand out in a helpless little wave towards his appearance and Dean couldn’t help but laugh. 

“Your stuff’s in the guestroom.” He pointed in the general direction of the hallway, but when Sam turned around to go where he was being directed, Dean quickly stepped in front of him, blocking the way. “You know what,” he offered, “Why don’t you let me get that? The guest room's kind of— Just, wait here, okay?” 

Sam gave him a funny look, but Dean was already halfway across the living room before he had even finished his sentence. He didn’t want to scar his brother within the first five minutes of his day by tossing him into the room where Cas and he had been— Yeah, he just really didn’t want Sammy snooping around in there. It felt wrong in so many ways he couldn’t possibly settle with just one. 

Sam watched Dean disappear around the corner and down the hallway, giving a confused shake of his head. He then turned towards Castiel, clearing his throat while giving the angel a little nod, which Cas responded to with a slight tilt of his head.

“So…” Sam motioned to himself. “I guess I owe you a big one after all this, huh?”

“What do you mean?” Castiel asked, confused. Sam scratched the back of his neck.

“Well, you  _ did _ save my life,” he pointed out. “I mean, I don’t remember much, but I remember you stepping in between me and… whatever that thing was back there and I— I don’t know how I’m ever gonna be able to repay you for that.”

Castiel narrowed his eyes at him, as if trying to decipher a hidden message concealed within the other man’s very skin. After a few seconds, he pushed off of the counter he was leaning on with an even deeper frown on his face.

“Sam,” he said slowly, “I saved you because you’re my friend, not because I wanted to gain a favor.” 

“Yeah, but—“

“I’ve gone through this with your brother already,” Cas interrupted him. “I don’t look after the two of you because I feel obligated or forced to do so. You’re my family, and as long as I am capable, I will do whatever it takes to keep you from getting hurt. As far as I’m concerned, you don’t owe me anything.”

Sam’s mouth shut with a mute click of teeth. His eyes dropped to the floor as Cas continued to stare him down, and then he nodded slowly, a knowing little smile creeping across his lips.

“Well… I guess I can’t really argue with that, seeing as you  _ are _ my brother-in-law and everything.” He glanced at the angel, and Castiel straightened up, as if that particular fact hadn’t really occurred to him before then. After a moment, however, his face softened, and what started as a tiny twitch at the corner of his mouth slowly grew into a genuine smile.

“Yes…” he agreed softly. “I suppose I am.” 

Sam chuckled, but cleared his throat in an attempt to act serious when Dean suddenly reappeared in the doorway with Sam’s bag. Dean gave the two of them a suspicious squint, as if he had just caught them making fun of him behind his back, before tossing the bag to Sam with a nonchalant throw of his arm.

Sam caught it with a mumbled, “Thanks,” and immediately began to rummage through it in search for his clothes, but as he bent down to pull out the first garment from the bag, he caught the sight of Dean sending Castiel a  _ look  _ from across the room. Even though Castiel’s facial expression didn’t change, his eyes seemed to light up when his and Dean’s gazes locked, a spark as from a tinderbox igniting somewhere deep behind the layer of bright blue that was his irises. Dean responded by licking his lips nervously while shooting Sam a guarded glance, which Sam in turn pretended not to see. 

Sam was well aware of how good Dean was at keeping his feelings bottled up, but Sam recognized an internal conversation when he saw one. It didn’t take a genius to realize that the psychic connection his brother had mentioned last night was now up and running on all available cylinders. 

There was no doubt in Sam’s mind that Cas was currently sharing the nature of the talk the two of them had been engaged in when Dean entered the kitchen, and so, he knew exactly what Dean’s look was about. The fact that Sam had mentioned that he and Cas were now brothers-in-law revealed that he remembered what Dean had told him the night before. Right now, Dean was most likely on the verge of panicking over that particular piece of information, and Sam suspected that his brother was currently trying to figure out how to bring the topic up with him without sounding like a sentimental sap about it.

Perhaps Dean would have preferred it if Sam had not been able to recall what he had been told back then? Especially since it all had been blurted out in such an indelicate fashion, but in all honesty, Sam would not have needed to be told that something between his brother and the angel had changed while he was gone. 

As he pulled on his clothes, he threw the other two men a quick glance from the corner of his eye. He had to bite the inside of his cheek in order to keep himself from bursting out laughing as he did, because seriously, he had never seen his brother look so absolutely smitten with anything before in his life. 

Dean had his eyes – dazed and nearly drunk looking – locked with the angel before him, and his tongue was continuously sweeping out to moisten his lips while he gave a near invisible little nod. Castiel, on his end, had always had a thing for staring at Dean as if he was the most fascinating thing in the entire world, but now, Sam thought that the look in the angel’s eyes appeared clearer, less hidden somehow. When Castiel’s brow gave a near invisible twitch of confusion, Dean’s lip twitched up in an amorous smirk that was worlds apart from the normal flirtatious smiles that he usually handed out like free candy during their investigations. Yup, Sam decided, something big had absolutely gone down between the two of them; there was no question about it.  

Sam straightened up, noticing how Dean immediately whipped his eyes away from the angel with a guilty strain of his jaw the very moment Sam’s eyes landed on him. Once again, Sam pretended not to see it, and calmly sat down by the table to pull on a pair of socks. When he was done, Castiel set a plate of eggs and bacon down on the table in front of him.

“Eat,” the angel ordered politely, “but slowly.”

“Oh, thanks!” Sam gasped, grabbing the fork by the side of his plate. “God, I feel like I could eat a horse…!”

“I hate to break it to you, Sammy,” Dean chuckled, “but that’s probably not such a good idea.”

“Of course eating a horse isn’t a good idea,” Sam snorted in between the bites. 

“I think what your brother means,” Castiel interjected smoothly, “is that overconsumption of food would most likely cause you more discomfort than satisfaction at this point.”

“Really?” Sam asked, looking in between the two of them while bringing the coffee cup to his lips. “How come?”

“Side effects of the spell,” Dean explained shortly. “Something about solid food not mixing well with your baby brain.”

“Speak for yourself,” Sam grumbled into his cup, but then his brow furrowed as he slowly put the fork back down. “So… hold on, are you guys trying to tell me I’m not allowed to  _ eat? _ ”

“Of course you’re allowed to eat, Sam,” Castiel assured him, setting down a glass of freshly pressed orange juice next to his plate. “As long as you stick to smaller portions there shouldn’t be a problem. Think of it like recovering from a stomach virus.”

“Great!” Dean gloated happily. “More food for me then.” He barely had time to finish the sentence before he was forced to quickly dance out of the way to avoid getting a shallow punch to the groin from Sam in return.

Five slices of bacon, two fried eggs and a quick angelic checkup later, Sam was declared to be doing just fine, and except for being grumpy about his food, the young man seemed to be perfectly healthy. His memory was fuzzy, mostly consisting of quick flashbacks and frozen images, so Dean and Castiel had to explain exactly what had happened to him from the moment the Grÿla had flung its spell on him that night at the abandoned house. 

Dean made a big show about how whiny and grumpy Baby Sam had been, not sparing any of the embarrassment that being transformed into an infant could possibly involve. Castiel didn’t interfere with his antics, but whenever Dean got a bit too carried away with his exaggerations, Cas rolled his eyes to the ceiling with a snort that clearly informed Sam that the angel did not share his brother’s enthusiasm of creative storytelling. 

Sam could not help but notice, however, that Dean failed to mention what exactly had happened between him and Castiel while Sam had been in baby-mode. The timeline contained more than just a few gaps – gaps that Sam found himself getting increasingly curious about. Especially the parts where the subject of Castiel’s wings seemed to cause his brother’s face to flush and the words to catch in his throat. 

When Dean reached the part about how Sam had puked all over said wings, Sam’s fascination was instantly replaced by a humiliation so strong he wished he could have just sunk right through the floorboards on the spot. His ears and neck flushed red with shame as he sneaked a guilt-ridden glance at the angel sitting on the couch by his side.

“It’s okay, Sam,” Castiel assured him. "It was an accident, and considering the aftermath of it all, I believe everything turned out for the best.”

“Aftermath?” Sam asked, confused. He looked between the two men in confusion and Dean’s smirk melted right off of his face like had it been washed away with a bucket full of water. Sam saw him send Castiel a glare that could have made a volcano freeze, and yeah, Sam decided that he really didn’t need to know anything about the aftermath after all.

 

/\/\/\/\/\/\

 

Later, when Castiel once again had become spellbound by the TV, Dean found himself in the kitchen, washing up the dishes after breakfast. He knew that he technically didn’t have to, seeing as he had a celestial insta-maid at his service, but he found the thought of exploiting Castiel’s mojo for something as simple as doing the dishes to be a little too much, even for someone like him. If Cas came in and volunteered to take care of it Dean would let him, of course, he wasn’t going to deny that, but unless that happened he would happily report to kitchen-duty whenever it was needed of him. 

He had already finished with the cutleries and was in the middle of scrubbing his way through the plates when Sam joined him. He came into the kitchen without a word, quietly stepping up to the sink where Dean stood. He gave Dean a quick smile before he picked up a towel to dry the clean plates and glasses already sitting in the rack on top of the sink. 

They stood there quietly for a while, the sounds of water sloshing and porcelain clattering the only things disrupting the air as they worked side by side. Dean was counting the seconds inside his head, knowing what to expect, because he recognized his brother’s game plan far too well not to feel anxious about it. 

Of course, he had known that Sam would initiate ‘the talk’ sooner or later. He also knew that no matter how many times he had gone over the outcome of that particular conversation inside his head, his brother would without doubt be able come up with new, amazing arguments as to why Dean was a thoughtless idiot that Dean would have no idea how to respond to. He heard Sam inhale deeply by his side and his shoulders tensed, preparing for the worst. When his brother finally spoke, however, his voice did not carry any of the chiding, reproachful tone that Dean had been expecting.

“So…” Sam cleared his throat discreetly. “Married, huh?”

Dean threw his brother a quick glance from the corner of his eye, and then he nodded, offering the taller man a plate from the sink.

“Yeah…” he confirmed quietly, looking away. Sam took the piece of porcelain out of his hand, carefully wiping off the dripping surface.

“I know I’ll probably regret asking,” he mumbled, “but…  _ how _ did that happen, exactly?”

Dean’s hands stilled beneath the foamy water in the sink. He took a few seconds of staring down into the iridescent bubbles floating around down there, before he sighed deeply, closing his eyes.

“Long story short?” he rasped and Sam shrugged, putting the dry plate in the rack.

“If you want,” he offered and Dean picked up another plate, working it over with the bristles of the brush in his hand. He moved in rough strokes that made the water splatter up over the counter, leaving a few bubbles behind to pop seconds later. For a moment, it seemed as if he wasn’t going to say anything else, but eventually the words began to fall from his lips; short, clinical and professional.

“Cas lost most of his mojo when he saved you from Evil Fake-Witch, you know that already,” he spoke into the sink. “The juice he had left started looking for reserves; the closest reserve in this case being… me.”

“ _ You _ had grace?” Sam chuckled and Dean sent him a quick glare, efficiently shutting him up.

“Since the time he put me back together from Hell, apparently,” Dean muttered. “Anyway, for some strange reason, when the grace I had tried to make its way back into Cas, it made my body—” He cut himself off, searching for the words, “Let's just say I experienced some really… confusing sexual triggers there for a while. Before I understood what was going on.”

Sam’s eyebrows shot up, but he nodded in silence, making a gracious choice not to make a comment.

“One thing led to another,” Dean continued with a sigh, ridding the plate in the sink from the last of its bacon grease, “and before I knew it….” He held out the plate, leaving the sentence uncompleted and Sam nodded again, taking the explanation without question, understanding without further description what his brother was trying to tell him.

“So…” Sam swallowed hard. “It’s not something that… you know, you guys did to… like, make that ritual work or anything?”

“What?” Dean snorted, turning towards him with a disbelieving frown, and Sam actually looked a bit  _ embarrassed  _ where he stood; the plate and towel looking like miniature pieces of a dinner service in his enormous hands.

“I was just thinking…” he explained, “I mean, you sold your soul for me once, and I thought maybe— Well, you know what I mean,” he ended lamely. Dean looked at him, long and steady, until he bit down onto his lower lip, nodding slowly.

“Yeah,” he admitted. “Yeah, I know what you mean… And no, I did  _ not  _ do the halo-version of a Las Vegas wedding just to get you out of your diapers, if that’s what you’re asking.”

He returned his attention to the frying pan in the sink, and another silence lowered itself over the kitchen. Much like the last one, however, Dean knew that it wouldn’t last long.

“So you guys are… in love, then?” Sam asked warily, ducking his head to seek out Dean’s eyes.

“’In love’…” Dean snorted, “Dude, you sound like Oprah.”

The question had been expected, of course, but for some reason it also angered him that Sam would ask him something like that. As if Dean’s explanation hadn’t been believable enough. The grip around the iron pan in his hand tightened, the scrubbing sound of bristles against metal turning even louder.

“But you  _ do _ love him?” Sam prompted impatiently and Dean rolled his eyes to the ceiling.

“Wow, aren’t you nosy today,” he bit out, trying to keep himself from using a harsher description of what he thought his brother was being right now. He wanted this conversation to be over, preferably ten minutes ago. Cas had said that Sam hadn’t appeared upset with the fact that he and Cas were an item now, but Dean knew his brother.  _ Not Upset _ didn’t always equal  _ Completely Cool With _ , and at the moment, it was as if Sam had decided to zero in on the task of making Dean admit to the L-word, before he moved on to tell him what a  _ horrible  _ idea binding your soul to an angel was. It wasn’t untrue of course, Dean  _ did _ love Cas – Jesus, he wouldn’t have married the guy if he didn’t – but he didn’t understand why it had to be made into such a big deal? 

Sam was still looking at him, waiting expectantly, but when Dean remained quiet he sighed. That annoying, god-forsaken  _ I-know-better-than-you _ sigh that always managed to push Dean’s buttons the wrong way, the sound of it loud and obnoxious against the kitchen walls.

“Dean, you have to—” he started, but he didn’t get far. He cut himself off when Dean threw the items in his hands down into the sink with a loud clatter, turning towards his brother with a glare.

“What?” he snarled defiantly. “I have to do  _ what _ ?”

Dean knew exactly what to expect from such an outburst, and sure thing, his brother was already doing his usual eye begging routine, and fuck it, Dean had almost forgotten how tough it was to withstand the force of that look. To ignore the way Sam’s eyebrows knotted together, as if Dean was the most precious being ever in need of help, and Dean looked away again almost immediately, hating the water still lapping at the edges of the sink for reminding him of his tantrum.

He liked Cas, and yeah, just the thought about losing him made him want to throw up or stab something. Possibly both. However, as much as he had accepted the fact that his feelings for Cas exceeded that of a normal best friend with benefits relationship a long time ago, he still couldn’t bring himself to say it  _ out loud _ like that. Sure, he said it to Cas that one time on the porch, but that wasn’t the same thing. Not like standing here in the kitchen and admitting it to his  _ brother _ , as if they were talking about some kind of angelic high school  _ crush _ .

‘Love’ meant that someone was precious enough to lose, and Dean was not stupid enough to think that a simple word would change the significant meaning of what he and Cas had, but something inside him still screamed and clawed for him to hold that word back. He had gone through too much; lost too many people in order to disregard what usually happened whenever he showed that he cared for someone. They lived a dangerous life as it was, being just  _ friends _ , and Dean knew how the forces of evil liked to exploit those kinds of relationships in order to get what they wanted. Being friends was bad, lovers even worse, and Dean wasn’t ready to put his and Castiel’s relationship out there for the next Big Bad to paw its slimy, rotten hands all over it, he simply  _ wasn’t _ .

Sam should know all that shit by now, and he probably did, but as always, he still insisted on this stupid habit of making Dean open up and  _ talk _ about it instead of just leaving it alone. Right now, Dean  _ really _ didn’t feel like talking about it, especially if Sam was going to lecture him on his own feelings. His brother was still giving him ‘the look’, however, and when Dean turned back to the sink, still without saying a word, Sam’s jaw tightened, the next dry plate hitting the rack with more force than necessary. 

“Dammit, Dean…” Sam hissed, lowering his voice to an angry whisper, “If you don’t love him, then why the hell—”

“I never said I  _ didn’t _ , okay?” Dean snapped just as quietly, cutting him off. “I just—” he bit his tongue as he fisted his knuckles against the drenched metal of the sink, and Sam sighed, tossing the towel to the side.

“Listen, man…” Sam started, “I realize that this new…  _ lifestyle  _ of yours must be—” He swallowed down whatever word he had been about to utter when Dean sent a frosty glare his way, making him bite the inside of his cheek before starting over again, choosing his words more carefully.

“Point is,” he clarified, “That I want you to know that I’m not, you know, freaked out by this. If you love him, then that’s the way things are and… I’m happy for you.”

“Oh, my God, Sammy…” Dean groaned, grimacing and cringing inwardly from the sappy feel of it all, but Sam ignored him.

“I’m being serious, Dean.” He looked to the side towards the living room and at the angel sitting on the couch, partially visible through the doorway. “I mean, I’ve seen the way Cas looks at you. I’m not stupid. I’ve been sitting back watching this brew for almost two years now, thinking that you one day might actually  _ get it _ , so just trust me when I say that I’m glad you guys finally sorted things out.” He turned back to Dean with a shrug. “I’m just surprised it didn’t happen sooner, that’s all…”

Dean opened his mouth, but closed it again just as fast, blinking dumbly while Sam’s words seeped past his thick wall of agitated defence, and on into his brain. 

Two years? 

Sam had seen this coming for  _ two years? _

His brother must have spotted the surprised look of shock on his face, because suddenly there was a big paw of a hand on Dean’s shoulder, squeezing it tight in reassurance.

“I’m your brother, Dean,” Sam smiled. “I know you better than anyone. Cas makes you happy and that’s all that matters. Besides,” he added with a chuckle, the dimples on his cheeks deepening along with the amused crinkles at the corner of his eyes, “You need to do a bit more than sleep with your guardian angel to shock me nowadays.”

Dean didn’t know what to say to that, all possible responses sounding strained and flat inside his head. When Sam let his shoulder go with a final squeeze to walk over to the fridge, he just stood there, trying to wrap his mind around the information he had just been told. He heard Sam open the refrigerator door, the sound quickly followed by the familiar clink of bottles being pulled off the lower shelf. 

“Hey, you want one of these?” 

Dean turned around and saw Sam hold out one of three beers towards him. Dean looked at it, watching the pad of Sam’s fingers leave traces in the condensation on the glass, small droplets slowly making their way down the dark brown surface. He looked back up and met with Sam’s honest gaze, peaceful intentions beaming at him like goddamn sunlight, and oh, what the Hell...

“Open it for me, will ya?” He held up his hands, suds of soap dribbling down his arms to drip off his elbows. Sam unscrewed the cap with a smirk, setting it down on the counter next to Dean, before turning around and walking out of the kitchen.

Dean watched over his shoulder how his brother took place on the couch next to Castiel, offering him the second bottle in silence. The angel took it without even taking his eyes off the TV, but Dean could still feel the pleased glow of the other’s grace seep through the sleeping bond in his head. Snorting out a laugh, Dean returned his attention to the remaining dishes in the sink, continuing with the task of scrubbing down the frying pan while wearing a huge, dorky grin that seemingly refused to come off his face. 

 

/\/\/\/\/\/\

 

Bobby came back inside at about half past two. He acknowledged Sam’s awakened state by barking at him to get his feet off the coffee table, but Dean could tell that the old man was secretly glad to see the Gigantor back to normal again. If the twitch at the corner of Sam’s mouth when he dropped his feet back to the floor was of any indication, he was aware of it as well.

The rest of the day was spent in a sort of lazy, afternoon haze in front of the TV. Castiel’s fascination for soap operas seemed to be unquenchable, whether they featured fucked up family history, lover’s quarrels or even work relations; the angel appeared to drink them all in from his spot on the couch like a thirsty man in the desert downing a glass of water. 

Dean had to hide a smile behind the back of his hand or a swig of his beer whenever a (to him at least) very predictable plot-twist left Castiel’s mind puzzled and nonplussed about what just happened. Cas was not stupid, absolutely not, but social situations always seemed to get the better of him regardless of his superior intellect. Still, no matter how much Dean knew that Cas was really trying his best, he couldn’t help but find his lover’s failed attempts to be absolutely hilarious.

_ I think Eric should stay with Claire,  _ the angel confided seriously, squinting his eyes at the couple displayed on the screen. _ That Nicole-woman can’t be trusted. _

_ Really? _ Dean asked, hiding his amusement by acting surprised as he looked at the TV, where the couple were currently discussing whether leftover pizzas were supposed to be eaten cold or heated.  _ I think Nicole’s pretty hot. They look good together. _

_ Don’t be ridiculous, _ Castiel answered sharply.  _ She’s been doing everything in her power to separate him from Claire from the very beginning. She’s obviously up to something. And Claire brought Eric breakfast, _ he added, almost as an afterthought. _ Nicole never did that. _

_ You really think breakfast is going to be some kind of a deal-breaker here?  _ Dean asked.

_ I’m just saying it’s a nice gesture, _ Cas mumbled and Dean just couldn’t help himself. He started laughing, earning him a quizzical look from both Sam and Castiel alike.

_ So that’s why you’re so hell-bent on making us breakfast every morning?  _ he asked incredulously.  _ Because it’s a  _ nice gesture _?  _

_ I cook breakfast because I want to, _ Castiel objected.  _ It makes me feel useful. The fact that it’s relaxing as well is just a ‘perk’, as they say. _

_ As long as it makes you happy,  _ Dean graciously agreed,  _ but if you tire of it, let us know. Bobby makes a mean omelette. You should try it sometime. _

_ I’ll remember that, _ the angel answered – a bit absentmindedly, one might add, since the couple on the screen had now moved on from the subject of pizza to discuss the exquisite art of morning kisses. 

_ Is it really an American tradition? _ Castiel asked, tilting his head sideways in an unintentional mimic of the two humans he was watching, voicing his curiosity about the information the male part of the couple had just shared with his female companion.

_ I’d say it’s probably a pretty global tradition, _ Dean answered with a shrug.

_ We should do that more often then, _ Castiel decided firmly. Dean took another drink from his bottle, smiling victoriously.

_ Agreed, _ he answered, looking over at the screen where the handsome young man in the relationship was currently giving the girl a very hands-on lesson in how to perform a proper kiss. Watching the two of them lock lips with each other caused a rather interesting idea to spark to life inside his head. 

Castiel didn’t make a sound when the phantom touch of Dean’s lips brushed over his, but Dean felt the bond crackle with surprise, followed by realization when Dean mimicked the instructions coming from the TV.

_ You start out slow… _ he whispered quietly, repeating the slurry words originating from the television’s old speakers,  _ and you start out a little like this…  _ In his mind he tilted his head a bit to the left, noticing how Castiel’s physical mouth fell open a bit wider in response.  _ And then you do a little like this…  _ he rasped, adding a little tongue to the picture, and at that, Castiel’s eyes seemed to lose their focus on the TV for just a split second.  _ And then you just kinda melt into each other… _ Dean ended with a dirty suckle to the angel’s lower lip.

_ Is this part of your plan to inappropriately embarrass me? _ The angel asked – a bit breathlessly, Dean noted.

_ Maybe I just wanna make sure you know how to do this right for later? _ he answered innocently, glancing at his brother to make sure he was not watching them, but Sam was still staring down at the screen of his laptop, so they were good.

_ I find the first reason to be more plausible,  _ Castiel retorted, though Dean found his annoyed tone a bit hard to believe since the angel had not stopped mentally kissing him yet.

_ You have to admit, this is very convenient, _ he purred back, feeling Castiel’s hand tighten into a loose fist by his side.

_ Perhaps,  _ Castiel admitted.  _ Though, I prefer to do it the traditional way. _

_ You’re just saying that because you can’t keep the mask up, _ Dean leered confidently, increasing the pressure of his mind at the point where Castiel’s lips seemed to bruise against his.

_ I told you, Dean, my mask is good.  _ Dean felt the angel’s lips curl up into a smile.  _ Your own, however, I have little hopes for. _

_ Oh, really?  _ Dean retorted confidently. _ Then how come you haven’t done anything to prove it yet?  _

_ I have no interest in humiliating you in front of your family. _

_You’re just scared,_ Dean teased, _Castiel; The_ _Little Chicken Wing Who Cou—_

He could feel the touch of Castiel’s lip tilt up into a confident smile before he had even finished his line of thought. This time, Dean actually  _ did  _ drop his beer into his own lap when the feeling of Castiel’s mouth left his, only to relocate itself below his waistline a split second later. The sensation of a tongue moving over his still soft member had his fingers shooting down to fist in the cushions of the sofa so hard his knuckles crackled.

Sam looked up from his laptop, a worried frown appearing on his face when he saw the look of shock on Dean’s face.

“Man, are you okay?” he asked, frowning even deeper when he spotted the wet stain of beer at the front of his brother’s shirt.

“Yeah, yeah, I’m fine.” Dean quickly fumbled the flask up from his lap and sat up straight, already halfway out of the couch when Cas decided to hit him with a second celestial lick. His legs sagged beneath him, tipping him back into his seat with a strangled groan that would have come out as a full blown yelp if he hadn’t bitten down on his own tongue to keep himself quiet.

At that point, Sam was in the middle of the process of shoving his laptop out of the way to sprint to Dean’s aid, but Dean held out his hand, stopping him with a violent wave.

“I’m alright Sammy, honest,” he grated, desperately trying to cover up the next choked out moan with a laugh. “Just a casual case of butterfingers, that’s all.”

“You sure?” Sam prompted, still holding his laptop halfway down to the floor. Dean nodded eagerly, giving Castiel’s side a hard shove through the bond.

“Yeah, positive,” he promised.

“Okay…” Sam said warily, before nodding to the spilled liquid on Dean’s clothes. “You might want to wipe that off, though.”

Dean turned towards Castiel with a sharp glare as he stood up, daring him to as much as sneeze this time. Castiel met the hard look with what, to an outsider at least, would have passed as polite interest.

Eternally grateful for the fact that he was left unmolested all the way into the kitchen, Dean ripped a handful of paper towels from the holder on the counter, wiping furiously at the wet spots on his clothes. He could feel Castiel’s grace focus on him all the way from the couch, studying his efforts with a ridiculously intrusive sense of accomplishment.

_ Very funny,  _ Dean snarled, but he only got a trickle of mirth and a fluttering sensation of fingers trailing across his ribs in return, making him flinch.

_ You know, you didn’t have to go all out at once, _ he snapped, tossing the pitiful remains of his beer into the trashcan under the sink, along with the soaked paper towels.

_ Who said I was going all out? _ Cas answered curiously.

_ Oh, don’t give me that bullshit, _ Dean grumbled. _ You were trying to fucking kill me back there. _

_ You are being a very sore loser, Dean. _ Castiel pointed out. Dean snorted out loudly.

_ Loser?  _ He asked.  _ Oh, no, this ain’t over yet. I’m gonna get you, you just wait. _

_ Of course you are, _ Castiel agreed gracefully. Dean bit back another startled gasp and gripped around the back of a kitchen chair when something that felt unmistakably like a slap made impact with his left ass cheek.

“Uh, Dean?” Sam called from the living room, “There’s still beer all over the couch.” 

Dean let out a long string of curses from under his breath before snatching another fist of papers from the holder. Then he quickly made his way back out into the living room, ignoring the polite way Castiel moved out of the way to allow him better access to the mess on the cushions.

_ You know  _ you  _ should be the one doing this, you ass _ , he grumbled testily.

_ Would you like me to help you?  _

_ No, _ he objected, doubling his efforts to scrub the couch clean. Once again, he could feel the bond stretch and swell with the angel’s barely withheld amusement, and he severed the connection with a sullen tug, wrapping his mind tightly around his wounded pride while totally not sulking.

Angelic poker face or not, he didn’t care how far he would have to go to win anymore.

This meant  _ war. _

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There we go :) Thank you so much for reading, as always <3
> 
> As I said, I'll really try to get the next chapter up next Thursday, but I can't promise anything, sadly :(   
> We'll just have to wait and see what kind of schedule my boss gives me.  
> Until then, I hope you guys take care good care of yourselves, and I'll see you again soon <3


	15. 15

Dean discovered the hard way that Cas had a  _ very _ good poker face. 

As a matter of fact, Castiel’s poker face turned out to be the hardest thing to crack since the Nokia 3310. Dean utilized his entire arsenal of sexually inspired weapons; over twenty years of well-acquired, personally collected experience, and he used them to the full width of his porn-infused imagination. Still, he didn’t get as much as a twitch of a muscle in return for his efforts.

He tried to mimic the trick Cas had done to him with the incorporeal blowjob, but the angel barely batted an eyelid when the length of Dean’s phantom tongue curled around the head of him. After a while, Dean simply stopped trying, because what he had planned to be a form of blissful torture appeared to turn into solely ‘blissful’ the longer he went on. 

Instead, he moved on to shamelessly molest the angel while Cas cooked their dinner. He even went as far as to fondle the angel’s… ‘backdoor’, even though it felt extremely weird doing it. He hadn’t even been there with his  _ real  _ fingers yet, and now he was using some borrowed heavenly power to probe his boyfriend’s ass like some kind of retarded scientist who poked around just to see what would happen. To make matters even  _ worse,  _ he realized pretty soon that not only did he not have the slightest clue of what he was doing, but apparently he also failed miserably at it. It became evidently clear that this was the case when Castiel slowly turned away from the stove to give him a sceptical look from across the room that made Dean want to blush and crawl into a corner of the basement out of sheer embarrassment. 

He gave up on touching the angel altogether after that, and when they went to bed in the guestroom – Sam once again with his limbs stretched out and hanging over the edges of the couch in the living room – Dean was in a real prissy mood. He grumbled out a testy ‘good night’ into the pillows before Cas had even turned the lights off, trying not to think about how it was completely uncalled for. 

Castiel had been acting so neutral in his thoughts towards him during the entire evening it could almost be called apathetic, and Dean felt more than a little bit humiliated by it. His original plan of getting the upper hand to give Cas a sexually frustrated, living hell had failed beyond the point of words, and he just wanted to go to sleep and forget that this day had ever happened. It was stupid and childish, and he couldn’t really pinpoint why this particular day had him feeling so butthurt, but it did. So when Cas climbed down beneath the covers to silently wrap an arm around his chest, Dean tensed up on pure reflex, shoulders squaring and causing Castiel’s mind to give off a faint flicker of confusion in response.

Dean expected the other to say something, but nothing came. Instead, he felt the soft tickle of Castiel’s hair as it pressed in against the skin between his shoulder blades as the angel rested his forehead against Dean’s back. A soft breath ghosted down his spine when Cas then let out a soft sigh against his skin. Wordless, but not without question. 

They lay there silently for a while; Dean’s muscles coiled and hard beneath the touch of Castiel’s hand. When the angel finally spoke, Dean convinced himself that it was no big deal that his heart panged with a shame strong enough to make it feel like it was exploding inside his chest in response.

“You’re troubled,” Castiel stated slowly, but not hesitantly, as if he was describing the state of Dean’s hair rather than his mood.

“What tipped you off?” Dean grunted back, wincing inwardly when the words came out a lot more hostile than he had intended.

“Your body language,” Castiel murmured, “but mostly because of this.” 

The feel of Castiel’s warm consciousness pressing against his mind suddenly shifted, drawing together and growing cold. Grey and dark, like a storm cloud with spikes of razor sharp edges thrusting out to cut against Dean’s senses like prickling needles. The sensation made Dean’s breath hitch, and then it was gone just as quickly as it had arrived. Castiel came back, warm and golden with rays of light curling over him, as if to apologize for the unpleasant demonstration.

“Your mind is a very unforgiving place right now,” he murmured against the top of Dean’s shoulders, pulling him in close. Dean swallowed, willing his muscles to relax as he let the tension in his body drop, slumping back into the cradle of Castiel’s arms.

“Sorry…” he rasped, ashamed. Castiel’s grace smoothed down over his back, calm and tender. 

“You mind telling me what’s wrong?” he asked.

“Yeah, I do,” Dean answered gruffly, but before Castiel’s mind could interject with another mental scowl, Dean sighed, pushing himself up and around to lie flat on his back. He glared up at the ceiling, feeling Castiel move his hand down to splay its comforting weight over his stomach, waiting.

None of them said a word for several minutes, but Dean could feel Castiel’s grace circle the outskirts of his brain, an anxious slide of power that he knew was being held at bay by pure manners. It buzzed with a worry that made the inside of Dean’s skull itch in the darkness, the house wrapping its silence around them like a suffocating blanket. Even the normal creaking and tapping that usually came with old houses seemed to have died down, the entire building holding its breath in wait for the inevitable.

“You really haven’t felt  _ anything? _ ” Dean groaned out eventually, his voice high as it shattered the silence. Castiel blinked. The light from the moon outside made the otherworldly blue in the angel’s eyes shimmer when Dean turned his head to glare at him accusingly, providing Cas with a quick flashback of the many forms of torture Dean had attempted to put the angel through over the last hours. Castiel’s grace practically rippled with confusion in response.

“Of course I have,” he answered, his brow falling into perplexed folds.

“But how—” Dean cut himself off when he heard the sulking whine in his own voice and he swallowed it down, trying again. “I mean, if the things I did  _ were  _ affecting you, then…? Dammit, you didn’t even flinch when I  _ went down _ on you. Two days ago I had to fucking gag you with your own tie, and today you acted like you couldn’t have cared less. What the hell happened, man, what did I do  _ wrong? _ ” 

Castiel looked at him, long and steady while the grace against Dean’s soul sparked and crackled, soaking up the emotions seeping out through his human brain’s defensive barriers. Dean swore he could hear it when the cogs in the angel’s head slid into place and the picture became clear, but he wasn’t expecting it when Cas suddenly chuckled, looking down to where his hand was still resting on Dean’s body, a hint of white teeth gleaming in the dusk.

“What?” Dean scoffed and Castiel looked up, a smile still crinkling the corner of his eyes as the fingers of his grace moved in to brush gently over Dean’s lips. Dean felt as if someone had opened up a door inside his head, information and insight washing over him in a blinding wave of light at the touch.

Castiel was an angel. A multidimensional wavelength of celestial intent, born out of the centre of imploding stars and expanding galaxies. Even though the body he was currently wearing was entirely and purely his now, given that Jimmy was long gone, it still didn’t make it a natural part of him, not completely.

Truth was that there was a very large difference between Castiel’s true self and the flesh and blood enveloping and embodying his grace. This difference, this  _ barrier,  _ made it possible for him to alienate one part from the other. This ability was usually utilized when receiving damage to the vessel, like cuts, bullet wounds or broken bones, in order to continue fighting without being blocked by physical pain. However, it could also in rare cases be used to completely detach all forms of physical sensations picked up by the vessel’s nerves, simply because it was convenient at the time. 

The rush of this new understanding left Dean’s mind spinning, his brain going momentarily blind in the dark that was left behind by Castiel’s grace when the bond narrowed and the door closed. Then his eyes widened, a sharp gasp dragging past his lips as he sat up, the covers falling down to bunch around his waist.

“I knew it!” he cried, pointing an accusing finger at the angel. “You were  _ cheating! _ ”

“I wouldn’t call it chea—“ Castiel started, but Dean interrupted him with another whooping leer.

“Castiel – Cheater of the Lord!” he exclaimed loudly, before Castiel grabbed the hand directed at him and yanked Dean down onto his back, rolling on top of him with a firm glower.

“I did not  _ cheat _ ,” he declared testily, the threatening tone doing nothing to quench the smug grin rippling across Dean’s lips.

“Oh, really?” he commented sarcastically. “Then what  _ were  _ you doing?”

“I was defending myself,” Castiel objected sourly.

“ _ Defending _ yourself?” Dean crowed. “You don’t get to  _ defend _ yourself, you  _ moron _ . You’re just supposed to  _ endure it _ , that’s the whole  _ point! _ ”

“I was not aware of the fact that there had been rules established to this,” Castiel answered dryly.

“You want rules?” Dean grinned, pushing at Castiel’s shoulder to let him up into a sitting position once more. “I’ll give you rules.” He held out his finger. “Rule number one;  _ all shields down _ . You don’t get to use your freaky vessel-mojo-crap to block me out, capisce?”

Castiel looked at the digit, pursing his lip as if he found this new rule to be just short of offensive, but then he nodded, sighing.

“Capisce,” he muttered.

“Good,” Dean mused, uncurling a second finger. “Rule number two; first person who gives up, or makes Sam or Bobby realize what’s going on, loses the war.” 

Castiel nodded again and a third digit joined the two already extended from Dean’s hand. 

“Third and final rule,” he said firmly, catching the angel’s eye with a wide grin before whispering dramatically, “ _ There are no more rules. _ ” 

“No more rules,” Castiel repeated obediently and Dean slumped back down, bucking Castiel off of him when he turned over to his side to tuck the pillow underneath this head.

“No cheating, no rules,” he concluded happily.

“That’s a bit contradicting, don’t you think?” Cas patronized him, but Dean could feel the light flash of anxiety course through the bond at the same time as the objecting words left the angel’s mouth, making Dean grin even wider.

“Absolutely not,” he declared confidently, nestling further down amongst the beddings. “And the first rule is not really my concern anyway since  _ you’re  _ the one cheating.”

“I told you, I did not  _ cheat _ .”

“Whatever,  _ cheater _ ,” Dean chanted from his pillow and Castiel shook his head with a reprimanding sigh that Dean pretended he didn’t hear.

“For a Righteous Man, you have a very poor sense of sportsmanship,” the angel pointed out before joining him underneath the covers, body pressed flush against the hunter’s back once more. Dean was genuinely glad Cas couldn’t see the wicked smile that had sneaked across his lips in the dark, even though the angel could probably still feel it.

Righteous Man or not, he was getting his revenge.

 

/\/\/\/\/\/\

 

For the first time since he and Cas started sharing the guestroom, Dean woke up to find the angel lying, actually  _ asleep _ next to him in bed the next morning, stretched out in a leisurely sprawl across the sheets in a position that didn’t seem befitting an angel of the lord in the slightest. With the covers pooled dangerously low around his hips, his eyes closed, limbs relaxed and chest rising and falling slowly (with breaths Dean suspected weren’t even needed), he looked painstakingly human in the golden rays of the morning sun that were trickling in through the blinds in the window. 

The contrast between the naked man before him and the angel who had laid down, tense and silent, to sleep fully clothed on top of a ragged motel bed only a month ago struck Dean with a nostalgic punch to the face. He allowed his eyes to roam the firm outline of muscles and sharp angles of Castiel’s body, marvelling at the sight as he drank it in. How things had changed, for both of them. Who would have known…?

_ You’re thinking too loud again... _

The corner of Dean’s lip tugged up when Castiel’s voice drifted through to his mind. The words were drowsy with a faint tingling sensation following in their wake, like when your foot’s fallen asleep, and Dean edged a bit closer, wrapping his arm around the angel’s waist.

“Morning, Feathers…” he mumbled teasingly against the side of Castiel’s shoulder and Castiel groaned out an affirmative, ‘mhm,’ as he shifted beneath Dean’s hand.

_ Tired? _ Dean asked, to which he was rewarded with yet another, ‘mhm’.  _ I thought angels didn’t need sleep _ , he whispered, sending the words through the bond with a light caress to his lover’s cheek. Castiel’s face burrowed further into the pillow with a groan, a dark tuft of hair rising to spike out awkwardly from his temple as he then turned around to press himself closer to Dean’s chest, his breath warm against Dean’s collarbone.

_Just because we don’t,_ _doesn’t mean we can’t,_ he murmured back. Dean snickered, leaning over to tuck the unruly wisp of hair at Castiel’s temple back down, smoothing his fingers down the length of the angel’s bared neck. He tried to be suggestive about it, but Castiel just shivered, his hand reaching down for the covers which he then proceeded to pull up high over his shoulder, the bond vibrating with an annoyed huff. Dean’s grin grew wider as he retracted his hand.

_ What’s the matter? Not an early bird today? _

_ No, _ Cas answered simply.  _ And I’d appreciate it if you’d stop referring to me as a bird _ .

_ Why? You’re such a cute bird,  _ Dean teased.  _ My own little Blue-eyed Tanager. _

_ There is no such thing, _ Castiel mumbled, the bird joke obviously flying straight over his head. Dean sighed, tightening his hold around the angel’s midsection.

_ So what do you want to do today? _ he murmured, trying to keep his thoughts at a pleasant volume.  _ Wanna go into town? We owe Bobby a new vacuum cleaner… _

Castiel just shrugged at the suggestion, or rather, he tensed his right shoulder in what would probably have been a shrug, had the angel been awake enough to perform it. Apart from that, there was no answer from him, and Dean glanced down at the sleeping male with his brow raised.

_ Or we could go to Disneyworld _ , he offered sarcastically, still with the same tone.  _ Meet Pocahontas, buy one of those dorky Mickey Mouse hats. And then I can watch you throw up behind the hot dog-stand after the roller coaster turns your stomach inside out. _

He waited, expecting there to be some sort of response, but Castiel just nodded against his chest with a tired moan and Dean sighed again, giving up his attempt to snuggle the angel into a more awakened state of awareness.

_ Does this mean that you’re taking a celestial sleep-in then? _ he asked.

_ It does,  _ Castiel answered, his head tilting up and falling back, baring his neck almost expectantly to the morning light. 

_ Alright,  _ Dean eye-rolled with a snort as he leaned in to press a quick kiss to Castiel’s forehead.  _ Just don’t drool on my pillow. _

The response was another, somewhat grouchy huff of breath, and even though he had just stated that he wanted to sleep, Castiel’s grace gave off a sharp pulse of disappointment when Dean pulled away to crawl out of the bed. Dean ignored it. Instead, he proceeded with pulling on his clothes as quickly and silently as he could before he padded across the room and slipped out the door with only a faint creak of the floorboards while Castiel stayed, curled up, sullen and annoyed in the back of his mind.

As Dean entered the kitchen, he wasn’t the slightest bit surprised to see that his brother was already awake and dressed, the wet patches covering his grey t-shirt bearing silent witness to the fact that he had already had the time to go for one of his morning runs. That health freak… 

Over by the stove, Bobby was in the middle of making breakfast – sausages and toast, from the looks of it – and he greeted Dean with a low rumble of, ‘morn’n’ as the oldest Winchester took place by the table opposite to his younger brother.

“Smells good, Bobby,” Dean commented at the same time as he reached out to steal Sam’s unguarded cup of coffee. “Can I have some too?”

“Why, you tired of angel cooking?” Bobby shot back, turning around to send a searching look over Dean’s shoulder. “Where’s your boyfriend?” he asked.

“Sleeping,” Dean answered with a shrug, ignoring the teasing title as he took a deep gulp out of the warm coffee. “He didn’t want to get out of bed.”

“Angels sleep?” Sam asked, the surprised arch of his brow turning into a scowl when he spotted his cup in Dean’s hands. He quickly leaned across the table and snatched it back, leaving Dean grappling around thin air with a disappointed pout.

“This one does, apparently,” he grumbled, leaning back in his chair to watch Sam empty the drink with a defiant glower. “I swear, give him another two weeks and he’ll be shuffling around the house at three PM in his underwear and a t-shirt.”

At the other side of the table Sam snorted loudly into his cup.

“What?” Dean demanded testily and Sam shook his head as he placed the now empty mug back down on the table.

“Trouble in paradise?” he asked politely and Dean crossed his arms over his chest.

“Why? Because he didn’t get up when I did? It’s not like I keep the guy on a leash.” 

“Well, something’s got your panties in a bunch,” Sam pointed out with a chuckle. “You guys had a fight or something?”

“Not that it’s any of your business, but no,” Dean shot back. Sam raised his hands, palms out in defence.

“Just trying to have a casual conversation here.” His eyes narrowed and a smirk pulled at his lips when he continued, “Who knows, if you’re gonna keep biting back like that, maybe it would be better if we had Cas put a leash on  _ you? _ ” 

Dean glared at him, but he refrained from answering. Truth to be told, he didn’t think Cas would  _ mind  _ having him on a leash, seeing as his significant other was one perverted son of a bitch, but  _ please,  _ for the love of all things manly, Sam better not give the dude any ideas!

He got up from his seat and stalked over to the cupboard, retrieving another cup and a plate for himself, along with a knife and fork, before returning to his seat. He threw the tableware down with another sour glare at Sam, who was too busy pretending like he didn’t notice to pay his gesture any attention. Bobby looked at the newly added plate and sighed, rolling his eyes to the ceiling as he went to get some more sausages from the fridge, muttering something about being eaten out of the house all over again. 

The food already cooked ended up on Sam’s plate, which Dean left alone first after a failed attempt of stealing Sam’s toast ended up with his thumb getting stabbed by a fork. Just as Bobby poured the new set of sausages into the frying pan, Castiel emerged in the doorway. Luckily, Dean’s apocalyptic fashion prediction of solely underwear and t-shirt proved to be untrue, seeing as the angel was once again dressed in his usual white shirt and slacks, suit jacket casually absent. 

“Good morning,” Castiel greeted gravelly. Dean raised his hand to give a little wave while Bobby’s ‘morn’n’ got drowned out by Sam’s enthusiastic ‘oof mpffhm’ that came rolling out around the food in his mouth. Castiel cleared his throat and then took place by the table next to Dean.

_ Birdie not sleepy anymore? _ Dean teased and Castiel rolled his eyes to the ceiling.

_ ‘Birdie’  _ could _ not sleep anymore _ , he corrected.  _ Especially not after your inconsiderate departure. _

_ Inconsiderate? _ Dean asked, glancing at Cas out of the corner of his eye.  _ Dude, I was quiet as a mouse. _

_ I’m not talking about your volume, _ Castiel muttered, seemingly fully content with studying the tabletop rather than looking at Dean.

_ Then what?  _ Dean asked with a frown. The response was an immediate flash of the bond; an image depicting a young man and a woman leaning over a pizza box coming into a flurry, clearly unintended view. Something clicked in the back of Dean’s brain at the sight of it, and as Castiel’s mind possessively closed around the memory, he recalled the angel’s expectant tilt of the head from earlier.

_ Oh… _ he thought, a lewd grin slowly spreading across his lips.  _ You wanted a morning kiss? _

_ I believe I was  _ promised _ one _ , the angel retorted testily, and Dean snorted out a laugh.

_ Then why didn’t you just say so?  _ he asked. _ I thought you wanted to be left alone. _

Castiel looked at him then, a contemplating furrow appearing on his brow.

_ I was under the impression that good morning kisses were to be engaged in spontaneously,  _ he mumbled. _ Propositioning you for one seemed… inappropriate.  _

_ You wanted me to  _ want _ to kiss you, _ Dean concluded wisely, taking a drink from his own coffee cup, still smiling.  _ That’s some serious chick flicking, man. _

Castiel tilted his head, looking even more confused.

_ One of these days you’re going to have to explain the connection between emotions and poultry more clearly,  _ he complained. _ I still don’t understand your obsessive need to bring up chickens whenever we have these kinds of conversations. _

_ You know, if you’re going to be this grouchy in the mornings, I suggest you lay off that whole sleep-thing altogether, _ Dean teased lightheartedly. Castiel snorted, looking out the window.

_ The process of awakening could indeed be more pleasant, _ he agreed.  _ Though it was my belief that morning kisses would be a more agreeable experience if exchanged while still half asleep.  _

Dean put his cup down, turning in his seat to face the angel who abandoned the view in favor of meeting his gaze. _ Alright, hold up. _ He squinted at Cas.  _ You’re telling me you decided to sleep, just to make a kiss  _ feel _ better? _

_ Yes, _ Castiel answered, as if the response to that question should have been obvious. Dean had to look away for a moment, the sincerity in the angel’s eyes verging on the brink of painstakingly hilarious. 

_ Cas—  _ he choked on his own thoughts, words failing him as he searched for a way to describe how utterly  _ typical _ and adorable he thought that was. All he managed was a defenseless chuckle, shaking his head while hoping that the angel would not take his reaction as an insult.

On the other side of the table, Sam had been watching their mental conversation unfold, eyes flickering between them both as if he was watching a ball in a tennis game. He had his toast raised halfway to his mouth, and when Dean started laughing, the corner of his lip twitched, as if he had just heard a joke that he wasn’t quite sure he’d understood right.

“What are you guys talking about?” he asked. Castiel squinted his eyes towards the snickering human at his side, calculated suspicion evident in the way he narrowed his eyes at Dean’s face.

“Morning kisses,” he answered bluntly and continued before Dean had any chance to stop him, “Yesterday Dean told me it was an important human tradition, but today he refused to give me one.”

Sam’s eyebrows shot up, as if honestly shocked about this news, but Dean could see the devilish glint in his little brother’s eye when he shifted his gaze from Castiel to him.

“Really, Dean?” he asked in feigned disbelieving shock. “That’s so inconsiderate of you.”

“It was a misunderstanding,” Dean grumbled. Over by the stove, Bobby turned to glance over his shoulder, obviously listening in on the conversation, and Dean did not like the way they were all looking at him; as if they were expecting him to  _ do _ something. Something like— 

“C’mon,” Sam grinned, “give your husband a kiss.”

Like  _ that _ .

“Shut up, Sam,” he growled.

“Why not?” Sam insisted. “It  _ is _ tradition,  _ like you said _ . You wouldn’t want to dishonor such a thing, would you?”

Dean aimed a kick at his brother’s knee under the table, but missed, stubbing his toe against the leg of a chair instead. He bit back a curse as he hid his pained grimace by diving into his coffee cup, knowing without having to be told that he was now blushing like an idiot. 

“They say there’s no better way to start a new day than with a good, long kiss,” Bobby suddenly butted in from the other side of the kitchen, and Dean nearly spat his coffee out with an undignified squawk, because now they were  _ ganging up _ on him! 

Across the table, Sam was wiggling his eyebrows like some kind of creepy pervert, and next to him Cas was looking at him with an expectant glow in his eyes that reflected the demanding inquiry Dean could feel vibrate inside his head. Dammit, he just wanted to eat breakfast, for God’s sake!

He glared at his brother, making sure to pour every ounce of malice he could muster into the look, before he leaned over and pressed a defiant kiss to the corner of Castiel’s mouth. He thought that it should be enough to make them stop mocking him, but when he pulled back, Castiel was frowning. A low throb of dissatisfaction was radiating off of his body and when Dean glanced to the side, Sam looked as if he was about to burst out laughing hysterically at any second.

“You call  _ that _ a kiss?” Sam snickered, shooting a glance at Bobby who chuckled, shaking his head. Dean’s jaw tightened, and he looked back at Castiel who was still frowning at him, confusion evident on the angel’s face as if he didn’t quite understand what was happening. Dean licked his lips, biting back an exasperated groan when the creases on the angel’s forehead deepened, and then he decided that, oh, to Hell with it!

He brought his hands up, grabbing around Castiel’s jaw, pulling him in for a kiss so deep it stole the air straight out of the angel’s shirt-clad chest. When Castiel’s hands clasped around the sleeves of Dean’s t-shirt, lips parting in a startled gasp, Dean shoved his tongue into the other’s mouth with a possessive force that rippled through the bond, determined to wipe the smug grin off of his brother’s face once and for all.

When they finally pulled apart, after God knew how long, Dean was trying his best to act unaffected, releasing the angel’s lower lip with a wet pop and returning to his coffee. Castiel, on the other hand, was giving him a wide, slightly cross-eyed stare with pupils blown dark in a way that made diving in for another kiss seem like an extremely good idea. Then the shocked gape of the angel’s mouth slowly morphed into a lopsided grin as a little huff of laughter escaped Castiel’s shiny, spit slicked lips.

Dean gave the angel a third, swift kiss through the mind link, noting with satisfaction that Sam looked as if he was having trouble deciding whether he should laugh or run away screaming.

“There, you happy?” Dean demanded with a testy glance his brother’s way. He bumped his knee against Castiel’s under the tabletop, feeling how Castiel shifted his leg to press back affectionately in response.

Sam opened his mouth, and then closed it again without a word. Then he turned around to stare at Bobby, who also looked appropriately taken aback by Dean’s sudden performance. The moment their eyes locked, however, Sam’s lips slowly curled up into a smirk, and before Dean knew it, Bobby was also hiding a smile by turning his back to them.

When Sam looked at Dean next, he was openly grinning.

“You two are so  _ adorable _ ,” he cooed and Dean’s triumphant joy instantly ebbed out into a sour puddle on the floor.

“You know what, fuck you,” he snapped. He didn’t even bother to look up when Bobby walked over to dump a load of sausages on his plate, along with a steaming slice of toasted bread. “Both of you,” he added testily.

To his disappointment, none of the two men stopped grinning at him, and he dug into the food on his plate with a sour glare at them both.

This was fucking stupid. Why did they have to make such a big deal out of a stupid kiss? They already knew that Cas and him were…  _ intimate _ , so why did they find it necessary to rub it in his face?

One of the sausages on his plate received a vicious end of his fork and was then stabbed again by a knife, before being brought up to his mouth in order to get properly punished for its existence.

Sure, he used to tease Sammy about kissing girls and stuff, but that was different! Sam was his little brother, and Dean was  _ supposed _ to give him a hard time about those kinds of things! Besides, how come they didn’t jab at Cas about being the one who wanted to kiss  _ him? _ Huh? How come  _ he  _ was spared the catcalls and humiliation?

He threw a cross glance at the angel by his side, who had now returned to looking out the window, studying the bright morning outside with calm fascination. That previous goofy grin of his had faded into a more serene smile, and Dean bit down on the inside of his cheek.

Only seemed fair that the angel got to taste embarrassment like he had... or at least got a hint of it.

He sent a fleeting touch towards the angel’s back to let a spiritual palm rub a slow circle between Castiel’s shoulder blades, feeling Castiel’s mind sigh contently at the touch. Dean’s fingers coaxed forth a slow bat of eyelids when they slid up through the angel’s hair, caressing his neck before dropping back down again to trail along the spine to the lower back. Castiel’s hips received an affectionate squeeze before Dean proceeded to knead at the firm muscle of his thighs, slowly moving further and further up. Then, the appreciative hum coursing through the bond seemed to stutter as Castiel abruptly straightened in his seat, jaw tightening when Dean’s hand cupped him through the dark slacks, rolling the weight of his balls in an invisible hand. 

_ Ah…  _ Dean mused, _ so the shields  _ are _ down? _

Castiel’s grace gave off a low spark, his eyes widening just slightly as his mind moved away from the scenery outside.

_ What are you doing? _ he asked, voice calm and dry inside Dean’s head. Dean answered simply by sliding his hands over Castiel’s flaccid penis, feeling the muscle of the angel’s leg twitch against his knee.

_ Is this really necessary? _ Castiel asked, still sounding more bored than anxious, but Dean could feel that he was getting there, albeit slowly.

_ What?  _ Dean mocked. _ You can’t handle the pressure with your mojo out of the game? _

Castiel swallowed and his gaze hardened as he continued to look out the window with a stern face. Then Dean nearly bit his tongue off when the steady pressure of a hand settled over his groin and started rubbing up against him under the table.

The startled hitch of his breath sent a triumphant spark through the bond, and Dean quickly got a hold of himself and straightened up, his eyes locking onto the sausages on his plate.

_ Asshole _ , he grumbled through the link.  _ At least I gave you some warning. _

_ No rules, remember? _ Cas reminded him politely.  _ Or perhaps you’ve changed your mind? _ he added. A curious tone seeped through the thoughts aimed at Dean’s mind, mocking him, and Dean’s resolve hardened. Oh no, he was not backing down from a fight he himself had started, not a chance.

Dean let the thought of his hands move, closing around and moving over his boyfriend’s rapidly hardening erection in steady strokes that Castiel was not late to mimic. Dean’s fingers flexed against the metal of his knife and fork when the warm touch of angel grace coaxed him into full hardness, causing his jeans to tent below his waistline.

There was no room for teasing, that option was since long gone. Right now, it was all about trying to get the other to lose or give up first while keeping your own arousal in control. The feeling of hands, fingers, lips and tongues that weren’t actually there battled against will and resolve, both of the two men shielding their thoughts to hide their intentions while keeping the bond open in order to seek out the other’s weaknesses. Still, keeping their semi-mental actions hidden from Sam and Bobby turned out to be remarkably easy.

At first.

After a while, Dean found that focusing on breaking the angel’s defences, staying silent, eating and keeping his attention at the conversation around the table all at once was more than a little bit challenging.

Bobby had been talking about some new kind of devil’s trap he had found in a book somewhere, while Sam, being the nerd that he was, had been completely spellbound by the news. So far, Dean had only been required to add the occasional ‘really?’ and ‘awesome!’ to the conversation to remain inconspicuous. Castiel was quiet, which was only natural since he never spoke more than he had too, and Dean found this obvious advantage highly unfair. Especially when the pad of a thumb swiped down to press just lightly against the slit of his cock, making him nearly choke on his food. 

Luckily, he managed to avoid suspicion, even though just barely, by coughing and gesturing apologetically to the half-eaten slice of toast that he had been in the process of eating. Bobby gave him the ‘idjit’-glance while Sam sighed, rolled his eyes and informed him that ‘it’s called  _ chewing _ , Dean, you should try it’.

Dean’s momentary defeat seemed to inspire Castiel even further, and when Castiel began to tongue his way up Dean’s shaft in cruel, swirling swipes, Dean had to wrap his ankles around the legs of his chair to keep himself from squirming in his seat. 

He wasn’t going to lose dammit! He’d rather bite his own tongue to the point of bloodshed rather than give up! Admitting defeat would be worse than anything Cas could possibly put him through, and he was not going to give the angel the satisfaction of kno—oh  _ God _ , that felt good. That felt so fucking  _ good _ , holy shit...

He took a deep swig out of his coffee, using the hot beverage as an excuse to let out a muffled sigh through his nose. He could feel Castiel’s grace coil tighter around him, almost seeping under his skin.

_ Give up, Dean _ , the angel suggested gently.  _ Spare yourself the humiliation. _

_ Not a chance,  _ Dean bit back, focusing even harder on adding a teasing lavish over the angel’s left nipple. He barely managed to suppress a grin of his own when the Castiel’s leg instantly gave a new, involuntary jerk in response, hitting the underside of the table with an audible thump.

He quickly abandoned the nipple in favor of wrapping his lips around the head of the angel’s cock, aggressively suckling and lapping at the tip. For a second, Castiel’s grace seemed to blank out, losing its footing completely, and triumph bubbled up inside Dean’s chest as a hopeful glimmer of victory burst through his mind. Then, Cas suddenly had more than two hands on his body, a dozen fingers skirting over his neck, dragging down his shoulders and teasing the back of his thighs, and shit fucking shit, Dean should have thought about that, why the hell didn’t he think of that?! 

The control of his mind slipped, his ability to focus his intentions falling through his fingers like fistfuls of sand. Just like that, Castiel was out of his reach, leaving him unable to retaliate the new assaults of pleasure on his body. Instead, he found himself literally incapable of doing anything but concentrating on how to keep his breath and hands from shaking as he continued to eat.

_ Had enough? _ Castiel asked through the bond when Dean brought a trembling slice of bread to his mouth. When Dean only gave him an unfocused glower in return, he sighed, and Dean moaned out loud when a sudden, slick vacuum wrapped around his cock at the same time as he bit down into the crust of his toast.  

_ Table manners, beloved,  _ Castiel scolded, his unabashed amusement trickling through the bond when Dean looked up and saw the confused way Sam, Bobby and even Castiel, the smug bastard, were looking at him. Dean let out a strained chuckle, pointing to the bread in his hand.

“This is one hell of a toast,” he exclaimed. Closing his eyes, he moaned dramatically while biting into his food anew to hide the way another stroke from Castiel’s grace made his body break out in a vicious shudder. 

“Glad you like it,” Bobby commented hesitantly, and Sam rolled his eyes to the ceiling _ again, _ because trust his brother to find a way to make something as simple as breakfast seem obscene.

Dean kept his mask up, reaching out to grab his coffee cup to wash the food in his mouth down. However, just as his fingers wrapped around the sleek surface of the porcelain, he realized with dawning horror that he wouldn’t be able to lift it without shaking, even less so drink from it. He swallowed hard to force the food down his throat even as his tongue was lying flat and dry against the bottom of his mouth. His pulse was banging against his head and his lungs were slowly appearing to shrink inside his chest, the oxygen level of the room seemingly decreasing with every passing second.

Castiel’s fingers were teasing his nipples softly, twisting and flicking over the two nubs with a pressure that should be downright illegal, and Dean was doing his best to keep still. He pulled his shoulders, tense and unyielding while quakes of pleasure rippled through his nerves as the grace kept playing over his skin in low, humming vibrations.

He knew that he had no chance of regaining the upper hand in this; that the only way to survive would be to simply endure and hope that he would make it to the other side in one piece, because he still  _ refused _ to give up. His pride would not be able to handle the humiliation of both his brother and his boyfriend all in the course of one morning. Instead, he gritted his teeth and huffed out a breath through his nose, biting the inside of his cheeks to keep his mouth shut while staring down at his plate as if it was the last scrap of sanity left in the world.

He could hear that Sam and Bobby were talking again, his brother going on about how he needed a new charger for his phone. Bobby, on the other hand, were valiantly trying to convince him to simply get a new phone instead, since those new models broke far too easily to be considered hunter-material. 

“What do you mean, ‘breaks’?” Sam asked incredulously. “I’ve had it for months and it works just fine.”

“Trust me,” Bobby grunted, pointing at Sam’s smartphone with the tip of his fork. “Those things are nothing but trouble. Garth managed to screw up three different models in no time at all.”

“Garth can screw up  _ anything _ in no time at all,” Sam pointed out patiently.

“Doesn’t mean the phones are any good,” Bobby retorted with a stubborn snort.

Dean was biting his lip now, his hands clutching around the silverware with knuckles whitening as they continued to cut shaky pieces of the sausages on his plate. The fork kept missing its target and the knife clattered against the porcelain as Castiel kept working him over, altering between jacking him off with slow, teasing little jerks and really fisting his cock in rough, fast strokes that made the breath catch in the back of his throat. 

“So you’re saying that my phone is crap?” Sam asked defensively.

“I’m not sayin’ it’s crap, I’m just sayin’ it’s not exactly hunter-friendly,” Bobby objected.

“I don’t think there’s  _ any  _ phone that’s hunter-friendly, Bobby.”

“Sure there is.”

“Really, like what?”

A strangled whimper was fighting its way up Dean’s vocal chords. He could feel the coppery taste of blood on the tip of his tongue as he bit down even harder on his lower lip, forcing the sound back down with a slight tremble to his jaw. He had finally managed to catch a piece of food on the prongs of his fork, but he couldn’t bring himself to raise it from his plate, because in order to eat he would have to open his mouth and  _ that _ would inevitably end in disaster.

Throughout it all, Castiel was watching him intently through the bond. Dean could feel the angel’s attention move over his mind, poking and probing for him to give something away, to reveal just how close he actually was. Every lazy slide of grace made the muscles in Dean’s body spasm, and Dean could no longer say if the lights flashing through his brain were there signs of a pending orgasm or an aneurism. He just knew that he wanted,  _ needed _ , but at the same time he feared the terrible price he knew he would have to pay for it.

“Motorola?!” Sam whimpered. “Really, Bobby, are you kidding me?”

“There’s nothing wrong with Motorola,” Bobby muttered.

“Sure, if you don’t mind carrying around a  _ brick _ ,” Sam stated firmly. “What about that phone we got you, Cas?” Dean tensed when his brother turned towards Castiel, snapping his fingers rapidly in demand of an answer.

“Nokia,” Castiel responded calmly. Dean would have been willing to stab himself with his own goddamn knife if it would have justified him making a noise, because now the feathery bastard was nibbling his ears as well!

“8800, I believe,” Cas added thoughtfully, as if half his attention wasn’t busy dragging Dean towards the brink of an orgasm with every passing second. Sam threw his hand out in triumph.

“See?” he said victoriously. “ _ There’s _ a phone that lasts.” 

“The older models, maybe,” Bobby muttered, but Sam would have none of the older man’s objections.

“Cas, would you say that your phone is durable?” he inquired solemnly.

“It survived the effects of a banishing sigil twice,” Castiel nodded and that was just not fair, how the hell could he sound so god damn  _ calm? _ “I’m not an expert on phones, but I know of few other manmade things that could be hold accountable for the same feat.”

“Exactly!” Sam cheered, turning towards Bobby and opening his mouth to speak again. Dean did not get a chance to hear what he was about to say, because then there was a swipe of something moving behind the weight of his balls – a zip of warmth, followed by a shallow rub of grace against a part of him that  _ definitely _ wasn’t used to being involved in near-climax situations. Without warning Dean’s body tensed up, the knife and fork slipping unguarded out of his grip with a loud clatter when the unmistakable rush of an orgasm shot up his spine, white flashing in front of his eyes, and shit this wasn’t working, he had to— he couldn’t— Oh god, fuck,  _ Cas…! _

“Jesus fucking  _ Christ! _ ” he groaned, slamming his fist into the table so hard it sent his plate clattering. His hips pushed forward into thin air while his cock tensed and released, scorching hot inside his pants. The world was swimming before his vision as he slumped against the table and buried his face in his hands, biting out another groan through gritted teeth while his dick made a last, feeble twitch against the fabric of his soiled boxers.

_ Now  _ this _ I can’t wait to see…  _

Dean’s eyes shot open, staring groggily down at the table between his elbows when Castiel’s amused thoughts pushed through the buzz inside head. Slowly, he looked up, coming face to face with Sam’s shocked face and Bobby’s confused frown. He froze, eyes widening in panic, because shit. Shit, shit,  _ shit _ .

For a heart-wrenching moment, the world seemed to stand still – giving Dean’s fucked out mind plenty of time to go through all the possible ways he was about to get publicly humiliated. Then it all slammed back into gear in a flurry of sound and color, leaving him grappling inside his head for something,  _ anything _ to say.

“Dean, what—?” Sam started, sounding more worried than horrified, and Dean blinked away the last of the fog from his vision, forcing his brain into a jump start as he straightened up with a snarl.

“It’s a  _ phone  _ for fuck’s sake,” he rasped out sharply, letting faked annoyance drip from his mouth. “Give it a rest, will ya?” 

His chair screeched loudly against the floor as he abruptly stood up and turned away, stomping out of the kitchen and into the living room with slightly wobbly steps. It was rude and childish maybe, but he had to get the hell out of there before the mess inside his boxers started seeping through the front of his jeans in tell-tale patches.

“Hey, where are you going?” Sam called out after him, as if he suspected that Dean was about to go do something incredibly reckless and stupid.

“Into town!” Dean snarled carelessly over his shoulder, not even slowing down the pace. 

“Really? Now?”

“Yes,  _ now! _ ” Dean snapped back.

“Pick up a new charger for my phone, will ya?” Sam shouted – half still worried and half exasperated – just as Dean rounded the corner to stride out into the hallway.

“Fine!” he yelled back, hurriedly striding down the corridor to flee (totally  _ not _ fleeing) into the guestroom to change out of his increasingly uncomfortable pants. As he slammed the door shut behind him, he could feel Castiel’s grace give a victorious little flicker in his direction, and he collapsed onto the still unmade bed, burying an agonized groan into the pillow.

Damn angels and their freaky telepathic skills!

 

/\/\/\/\/\/\

 

Sure, it hadn’t been the most immaculate rescue, but given the circumstances, Dean was pretty damn proud about the fact that he had managed to pull it all off without getting caught. Still, since his darling brother had been struck by the marvellous realization that he could use Dean as an errand boy, Dean was now forced to spend his time – and gas money – on a trip into town, instead of getting back at his sadistic boyfriend. 

Sam had insisted that Cas should go with him, undoubtedly in an attempt to force them into fixing whatever trouble he thought they were having. After all, the only thing  _ he _ had seen during breakfast was two grown men who refused to even look at each other while not uttering a single word. Dean couldn’t blame him for trying, and at least he had been polite enough to cover his annoying meddling up by suggesting that some fresh air would only do the angel good.

After a quick flicker of eyes in Dean’s direction, however, Cas had politely declined the offer, saying that if he wanted fresh air he could get it without problem. Dean, who remembered Castiel’s recent trip to Israel, decided not to push the subject further either. In reality, he was pretty grateful that he could now use his time in town to plot his own revenge, and Sam let the subject go with a scolding look in Dean’s direction – as if it was Dean’s fault that Castiel didn’t want to leave the house.

Castiel, in fact, had not said anything since Dean’s abrupt departure from the kitchen, not physically nor mentally, but Dean didn’t think much of it. After all, what was there to talk about other than the fact that Castiel had successfully managed to make Dean orgasm in the middle of breakfast? No, there was nothing to say, and to be completely honest with himself, Dean did not feel like striking up a conversation either. He was perfectly content with waddling around in his own defeat without any snarky, angelic comments, thank you very much. 

He announced his departure from the house with a short ‘see ya later’ aimed into the living room as he passed, keeping up the appearance of being in a bad mood as he quickly made his way out back where the Impala was parked. 

To see her standing there with the leaves that had plastered themselves to the windshield, it struck him how long it had been since he last drove his baby. He almost felt a little bit guilty for having forsaken her like this, but when he fired up the engine, the blissful tunes of AC/DC immediately came blasting out through the speakers, crisp and clear, so apparently there were no hard feelings. He even allowed himself a quick drum solo against the steering wheel before turning the car around to head out of the yard.

As he watched Bobby’s house become increasingly smaller in the rearview mirror, his chest seemed to tighten slightly around his lungs, the thought of consciously leaving Cas behind for the first time in over a month making him feel both lonely and just a little bit like an ass. If he focused, he could still feel the angel’s presence in the back of his head – that little gleam of consciousness calming him down and enabling him to relax, despite the distance. Castiel wasn’t going anywhere, and it was about time they got some privacy from one another anyway. They had been practically living inside each other’s heads for several weeks, not even counting the weeks Cas had been stuck with total insight into Dean’s grace-perverted mind. Even if Dean didn’t find it annoying or anything anymore, he still wouldn’t mind a bit of alone time, if only for a few hours. 

Yeah, surely that could only be considered healthy. 

Carefully, he pulled away from the connection inside his mind, shielding himself from the mental link as he drove so that even if Castiel was still evidently there and able to follow and feel him, their thoughts were left out of the other’s hair. Really, what was the use in plotting revenge if the one intended to receive it could hear what you were thinking?

As it turned out, the trip into town went far too quickly for Dean’s liking. Dammit, why did the best part of a song always have to come when you were about to turn the radio off?

Reluctantly, he parked the car by the local home electronics store and went inside to get Sam’s charger. He had to ask around to find the right type since really, technology wasn’t his forte. Dean had only had the presence of mind to register the brand of his brother’s phone, not the model, but after a few minutes of ‘guess-the-device’ with the personnel, he was soon back in the car. Singing along to ‘Thunderstruck’ for all he was worth, he then made his way to the gas station and got out to fill up the tank.

Once the tank was full, he went inside the store, thinking that he should pick up some more beers and maybe some snacks for later. As he walked down the aisles, he wondered to himself if Cas would like chips or popcorn better? Or maybe Cheetos? He didn’t seem like the pretzel kind of guy, but then again, there were a lot of things that Dean would have said Cas didn’t seem to like that he had already been proven wrong about.

He made his way down the parallel aisle, passing row after row of items until he reached the back of the store, where he came to a screeching halt when his gaze landed on something out of the corner of his eye just as he was about to turn the corner.

He eyed the rack before him with a light purse of his lips, the once so familiar titles on the covers feeling like something out of a farfetched dream. He reached out and plucked one of the magazines from the stand, paging through it with curious interest.

Porn.

How long had it been since he looked at porn? Five weeks? No, it had to be almost six by now…

Just for kicks, he paged to the centrefold and held it up, as if he was eyeing a complex road map instead of a dirty picture. He was actually a bit surprised when his heart gave an appreciative little thump inside his chest at the sight of lace and smooth curves, but for some reason he wasn’t sure how he felt about that. Boobs were apparently still a good thing, but… it also felt as if they shouldn’t be somehow.

He turned another page, revealing the image of a woman wearing nothing but a pair of pink, elbow-length leather gloves while lying on top of a kitchen table, holding a can of spray-on cream in her hand. A finger covered in previously mentioned cream was pointed suggestively against the tip of her tongue. 

It was a pretty graphic picture, and once more Dean’s body responded in favor to the sight as that familiar tingle in his lower abdomen that he had come to connect with Cas made itself known. His brain struggled with the sensation, as if it was trying to remember why this obviously angel-absent collection of papers was supposed to be exciting.

_ Dean, what are you doing? _

Dean gasped when Castiel’s voice ripped through the silence of his mind, confused and just a little bit suspicious. He slammed the magazine shut as if he had been caught with it red-handed by his own mother, but then he got a hold of himself and released a relieved sigh towards the floor.

_ Man, ever heard of knocking? _ he grumbled, opening up the magazine to the page with the girl in the kitchen again.

_ It’s a  _ psychic _ link; to actually knock would be imposs—  _  The angel’s voice stuttered and choked inside Dean’s head and the bond suddenly glowed bright pink as the image of what Dean was looking at travelled the distance between them.

_ Why are you looking at that? _ Castiel demanded tightly. Dean got the feeling that had Cas been there by his side, the angel would have made a very big point of  _ not _ looking at the page in Dean’s hands.

_ You embarrassed, Cassie? _ Dean chuckled, flipping the page to reveal another skimpy clad woman straddling a motorcycle. Castiel’s focus made a double-take inside Dean’s head before quickly turning away again, from what Dean could tell suddenly very interested in Dean’s memories of how a carbonator worked.

_ I prefer the term uncomfortable, _ the angel snapped back.

_ Seriously? _ Dean asked incredulously. _ We have sex that blows out windows and you’re embarrassed about a pornographic stereotype? _

_ It’s not the same thing, _ Castiel deadpanned.

_ How so?  _ Dean prompted.  _ Dude, it’s just as skin mag. It’s just pictures. _

_ Yes, which is precisely why I don’t understand the point of it. _

_ C’mon, I remember certain parts of you understanding the concept of that Pizza man–porno just fine. _ Dean leered, but on the other side of the line, Castiel obviously wasn’t amused.

_ That was different, _ he muttered. 

_ Different? _ Dean asked, turning another page before shrugging and picking up a second magazine.

_ Yes, _ Castiel answered sternly as a flicker of disdain coursed through the bond when the various pictures and headlines of the new cover travelled through the link.

_ How come? _ Dean asked calmly, opening the magazine to eye the index page with faked interest.

_ For starters, there were two people in that movie, _ the angel pointed out.  _ And they were… enjoying themselves. _

_ That’s usually the point of sex, Cas _ .

_ You’re being ignorant _ . Castiel snorted.  _ The pizza man and the baby sitter were laughing, interacting; they were  _ sharing _ something. The women in these photos are just staged. In spite of their physical beauty, there is no spirit, no passion. They’re… blank.  _

_ You don’t think you’re overreacting just a bit? _ Dean suggested, but the angel’s mind instantly drew together, like a hedgehog rolling up into a ball of prickling needles. Dean almost expected the angel to hiss at him.

_ I’ll take that as a ‘no’,  _ he sighed, letting the second magazine return to the rack before he headed towards the coolers in the back of the store, the first magazine with the cream and bike girls tucked safely under his arm.

_ You’re buying that? _ Castiel asked sharply. The pink bloom of the other’s presence shifted, a washed out tone of green branching out through the bond along with a faint, acid taste that trickled its way down Dean’s throat.

_ You have any reason to why I shouldn’t? _ Dean teased.

_ You really want me to answer that? _ Cas shot back and Dean broke into a wide grin.

_ Are you telling me you’re jealous of a couple of passionless, blank photos? _ he chuckled. The spidery veins of watery green immediately darkened even further.

_ You are  _ my _ mate _ , Castiel pointed out, and lord, Dean knew he shouldn’t be having as much fun with this as he currently was, but he just couldn’t help himself.

_ And that makes us what,  _ exclusive _ now? _ he asked, pretending to sound offended by the thought. For some reason, he was certain that on a celestial plane of existence there was a pair of pitch black, iridescent wings spreading out and ruffling threateningly in response.

_ Stop it, _ Castiel bit out.

_ Stop what? _

_ You’re mocking me. Stop it. _

Dean rolled his eyes as he opened the door to one of the coolers and snatched up a six-pack of beer before closing it again.

“You really have no sense of humor, do you?” he mumbled to himself.

Once again, the sensation of having a storm cloud of dark feathers towering above his head made its way through Dean’s consciousness, and he snickered.

_ I’m just playing you, man,  _ he soothed.  _ I wasn’t going to buy it, okay? _

Mental eyes narrowed at him and Dean demonstratively took the magazine and shoved it in between a box of chewing gum and M&M’s, replacing it with a big bag of potato chips instead.

_ There. You see? All gone. _

He didn’t get an answer, but the poisonous veins of dirty green drew back to slowly fade into a dull throb in the background while Dean paid for the gas and snacks. When he exited the store, Castiel’s presence was more of a sulking pout in the back of his head rather than a thunderstorm, and man, who would have known jealous angels could be so cute?

To be honest, he hadn’t really thought about how Cas would react to the thought of Dean looking at girls, even in the most innocent of circumstances. Given what they did for a living, the scenario of Dean having to talk to, or even flirt with other women was not very unlikely. If Cas intended to go smitey every time that happened, working their cases would, needless to say, become  _ much _ harder in the future.

Still… this was undoubtedly useful information, considering that he still had a revenge to execute. He had already established that the thing that made Cas so hard to beat was his military-like discipline. Dean needed something that could rile the angel up, something that would make him lose that control, and it might just be that he was on to something here...

Tentatively, he brought up the image of the biker girl from his memory, trying to make it look as if he was trying to sneak a peek at it. The reaction was instantaneous. 

_ I thought I asked you to stop that, _ Castiel snapped.

_ I’m just looking for inspiration _ , Dean objected, letting the girl send a lewd little wink at the angel through the mind-link.

_ You don’t need inspiration, _ Castiel declared frigidly, though not in a way that suggested flattery. 

_ You’re being prejudiced, Cas, _ Dean scolded. _ There are all kinds of interesting things to pick up from those magazines. _

_ Like what? _ Castiel grumbled, sounding as if it was the most ridiculous thing he had ever heard.

_ Articles,  _ Dean suggested.  _ Q&A’s… you know; tips and tricks for the bedroom. _

Castiel seemed to contemplate this information for a bit, though reluctantly so, one might add.

_ I suppose those things are acceptable, _ he eventually admitted.  _ But the images would be more preferable if they depicted real couples instead. _

_ Real couples?  _ Dean asked incredulously.  _ Dude, that’s a little invasive, don’t you think? _

_ And those other pictures are not?  _ The angel retorted.  _ At least then, the intimacy would be real. _

_ Okay, I get it. Intimacy is a big deal for you. _

_ It wouldn’t have to be just couples, though, _ Castiel continued, not caring about Dean’s little interjection.  _ For example, a picture of you on a motorcycle would be infinitely more erotic than anything currently printed in that magazine. _

Dean’s head immediately received a glimpse of himself astride a dark blue Harley Davidson, completely shirtless while wearing only biker boots and a pair of torn, unbuttoned jeans with a leather jacket nonchalantly swung over his shoulder – all delivered with a vibrating sensation of approval from Castiel.

_ Is that a fetish of yours?  _ Dean snorted, reaching out a hand to adjust the volume of the music.  _ Motorcycles? _

_ Not particularly.  _ Castiel almost seemed to pull a face at the suggestion.  _ You, however, are a very agreeable source of sexual inspiration. Regardless of the scenario,  _ he added. As if to prove a point, the picture of the motorcycle was instantly replaced by an image of Dean, lying naked on Bobby’s kitchen table, suckling on his finger with a come-hither look in his eyes. Dean’s fingers slipped over the buttons of the radio, his cheeks heating up so quickly he almost broke into a sweat.

_ Now that’s just creepy _ , he objected with a wince, quickly dispersing the promiscuous image of himself. Seriously, was it necessary to go into so much detail?

_ How so? _ Castiel asked challengingly and Dean realized with a sense of dread that this conversation was about to go in a completely different direction than he had intended it to.

_ It just  _ is _ ,  _ he insisted.  _ I mean… guys don’t do poses and shit like that. That’s for girls! _

_ You would look good doing poses,  _ the angel insisted and Dean resisted the urge to whimper.

_No, I’d look_ gay! he argued.

_ I think your perception of what a gay person looks like is mildly distorted, _ Castiel snorted.

_ Well, I haven’t exactly researched the subject,  _ Dean grumbled back. In return, he got a nonchalant shrug through the bond.

_ Perhaps you should. _

_What, research gay people?_ he snorted. _No thanks._ _I’ve seen both Bird Cage_ and _Brokeback Mountain. I know how it works._

_ I don’t understand,  _ Castiel sighed, obviously frustrated.  _ You don’t harbor any hate towards people with deviating sexualites, yet the topic of your own always seems to anger you. _

Dean’s body tensed.

_ My own _ ? he demanded sharply.

_ Yes, your own,  _ Castiel shot back, the glare almost physical through the link.

_ So you’re saying what, that  _ I’m _ gay? _ Dean snapped.  _ Because I’m not! _

_ I know that _ , Castiel snarled back.  _ If you were, that magazine would not have affected you they way it did. _

_ The magazine again? Really? _

_ Seeing as the centre of this discussion originated from the fact that you wanted to buy one; yes! _

_I told you, I was_ kidding! Dean repeated with an exasperated groan towards the ceiling of the car.

_ A very strange joke, _ Castiel muttered.

_ Would you just let go already? _

_ Fine,  _ the angel grumbled. Dean slumped down into his seat, fixing his eyes on the road with his jaw clenched tight while trying to swallow down the angry lump that had lodged itself in his throat during the conversation. Castiel was still moving around inside his head, pacing back and forth while pulsing out agitation through the bond. He was slowly giving Dean a headache, and Dean wasn’t sure if it was due to a side effect or an actual intention.

_ Have you ever considered buying a magazine with only men? _ the angel suddenly asked, and Dean visibly blanched.

_ No!  _ he squawked.  _ Absolutely not! _

_ Yet girls are apparently okay _ , Castiel pointed out sourly. Dean gritted his teeth.

_Listen, there are certain things straight guys just_ don’t do _, alright?_

_ Like having sex with angels in male vessels? _

Dean swallowed hard, his hands tightening around the wheel, leather creaking beneath his fingers.

_ That’s not what I meant,  _ he ground out.

_ I know what you meant,  _ Castiel answered. _ I just don’t understand it. _

_ Cas, we’ve been over this before,  _ Dean groaned. _ I know you don’t care about who’s doing what when we—  _ He cut himself off, licking his lips.  _ It’s just complicated. _

_ You’re worried about your masculinity, _ Castiel concluded quietly.  _ You shouldn’t be. _

_ Cas… _ Dean winced, but the angel didn’t pay him any attention.

_ Do you think of me as less of a person because I enjoyed having rectal intercourse with you? _

_ Of course not, I—   _

_ Then why should the other way around be any different? _

_Dude, you’re an_ angel! Dean exclaimed, almost saying the words out loud. _You could do whatever the hell you want and you would still be trumping whatever masculinity card anyone could ever pull on you._

_ While you as a human would only be belittled? _ Castiel asked, sounding genuinely confused.

_ Yes! _

_ So when I made you orgasm this morning, I was in reality oppressing you as a man? _

Dean lips parted, dragging in a sharp breath of air. He recalled that swipe of grace that had sent electricity sparking through his brain. That single, ghosting of a nonexistent finger and what it had felt like, pressing in against him.

_ You enjoyed that, yet there is no change in you now,  _ Castiel pointed out.  _ You are still the same man as you were yesterday. You drive the same car, listen to the same music, drink the same beer…  _

Dean sent a glare towards the passenger seat, for a moment forgetting that the angel wasn’t actually riding in the car with him. Even when not physically present, Dean could feel the force of those blue eyes staring him down, expecting an answer. His own gaze skidded over the dashboard in a haphazard swipe before flicking back to the road ahead. 

He couldn’t deny that what Cas had done to him this morning had felt good. He would even be willing to stretch as far as to call it exciting, but that didn’t mean that he— That he could just— Okay, so getting your ass toyed with apparently had its benefits, but what if—? 

_ How does it feel? _ he mumbled through the link, and Castiel’s grace shifted, frowning in confusion.

_ How does what feel? _ he asked and Dean gritted his teeth anew. Seriously, the dude could tell when he was reading pornos from five miles away, but  _ this _ he didn’t understand?

_ You know, the sex thing,  _ he clarified testily _. When you do it… back there, how does it feel? _

_ It’s… _ Castiel silenced, the slow pulse of grace against Dean soul suggesting that he was mulling the thought over, a dozen words and expressions flashing through the bond before the angel finally settled on one

_ … like lightning _ , he concluded.

_ Lightning? _ Dean asked, feeling his stomach turn over nervously.

_ Yes _ . 

_ As in pain?  _ Granted, Dean did not fear a little discomfort, but a whole damn lightning strike?!  _ Or is it like, getting a shock from an electrical socket, what? _ he carried on, perhaps a bit roughly. Castiel’s consciousness just shook its head.

_ No, not pain, just… very bright. Sparking. _

_ That doesn’t really tell me anything, dude. _ Dean grumbled.  _ Can’t you show me? Like… share the memory or something? _

_ I’m afraid not. _

_ Are you saying that because you can’t or because you won’t? _ Dean muttered.

_ I’m saying it because I’d like to believe that when you eventually find out, it will be through your own senses, not mine. _

_ So you won’t then? _ Dean snarled, feeling Castiel’s grace pull together defensively.

_ No, I won’t,  _ the angel bit back and Dean’s eyes darkened. His teeth gnashed together as he resisted the urge to throw his fist at the seat next to him.

_ Great,  _ he spat out instead, venomous sarcasm dripping from his mind. _ Fucking awesome.  _

_ It would be much easier if you would simply let me  _ show _ you, _ Castiel sighed, the emphasis on the ‘show’ suggesting that the angel wasn’t talking about a visual experience. Dean’s stomach instantly made that strange, lurching thing again that made his entire body grow alarmingly cold.

_ I don’t want to talk about this anymore, _ he growled.

_ Dean… _

_ No, Cas. Just… stop talking. _

_ Dean, please, I didn’t mean— _

_ For fuck’s sake, just  _ shut up! 

Dean felt Castiel’s mind reel back from the ice in his thoughts, retreating to a far off corner of his mind and Dean groaned, suddenly feeling as if every ounce of strength had been sucked out of his body. He sagged in his seat, swallowing hard and gritting his teeth to suppress the angry scream that wanted to claw its way up his throat. 

Castiel moved away from him then. The grace that had always spread warmth as of the summer sun over Dean’s soul turned cold as the bond narrowed down into a single thread of light that continued to grow continuously weaker. Dean knew that he should say something, perhaps even apologize, but instead the thought he sent through the decreasing bond came out completely different that what he had planned.

_ Tell Sam I’ll be home in a few minutes, _ he grumbled sternly, not really expecting Castiel to answer. The only response he got was a frosty flicker of grace and then the bond went silent, leaving his mind pitch black and mute in a way that made him feel as if he had been plunged deep under water. That was not right… That was not—

_ Cas? _

He held his breath, but there was no answer. Cold fingers slowly crept in to squeeze threateningly around his lungs the longer the silence drew out, numbing him. Nails of fear dug into the flesh of his soul as the horrible silence grabbed hold of him, pulling him under and dragging him down. The bond was still there, firm and steady, but it felt wrong, so terribly, terribly  _ wrong _ .

_ Cas?! _

The sound of his scream was muffled, echoing hollow and empty against the walls of his own mind. He rushed forth, trying to open up the bond once more, but it was like trying to pry open a bank vault with your teeth. The link refused to budge as much as an inch, and it was with a painful snap that he realized that Cas was keeping him out on purpose.

Panic clawed at the confinements of his chest, ice filling up his lungs and freezing him from the inside out, and he didn’t even notice the way his hands had begun to shake, white knuckles grasping around the steering wheel as his labored breathing struggled to pull oxygen down his throat. 

He could not recall pulling over. 

He had no memory whatsoever of opening or exiting the car, but the pain caused by the gravel and dirt embedded in his right hand remained long after he had staggered to his feet after what had to have been several minutes later. The raw scrape of flesh from where the his fist had continuously connected with the asphalt sent a dull throb through his limbs when he climbed back into the driver’s seat. His vision was blurry, but he didn’t care, and he ignored the sharp sting at the centre of his palm as he turned the ignition on, steering the wheels back onto the road with a sullen rumble of the engine.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Well, you know what they say – _“It’s all fun and games until…"_**
> 
> Next chapter will be up on Thursday. I'll see you then :)  
> Thank you so much for reading, guys! (And, you know, sorry for the cliffhanger...) <3


	16. 16

It took him a little more than twenty minutes to get back to Singer’s Salvage, and half an hour after the bond had closed, Dean finally parked the Impala in the middle of Bobby’s driveway.

His insides felt hollow, wrung out and bleached of color, and the muscles in his back and shoulders were aching with a tension he knew wouldn’t allow itself to be chased away with rest alone. He felt nauseous. Anger and hurt echoed through his entire body, and his brain was screaming with an anguish that pounded against the walls of his skull.

With a glower, he snatched the bag with Sammy’s charger out of the passenger seat and got out of the car, reluctantly trudging his way back towards the house. He walked up the worn steps to the front porch with his eyes stubbornly glued to his boots, trying not to focus on the gaping empty space inside his head where there had once been only light. 

He was actually doing a pretty good job at that when a movement in front of him caught his gaze. Looking up, shoulders squaring, he spotted Bobby sitting on a chair next to the front door, his arms patiently crossed over his chest as if he had been waiting for him this whole time. The slow, reprimanding shake of the hunter’s head made Dean feel as if he had just been caught elbow deep in the world’s most forbidden cookie jar.

“Dean…” the old man sighed, his voice both exasperated and pleading all at once. “What the hell have you done this time?”

Dean froze, a split second of hesitation between one step and the next, but then his face darkened and he started moving again.

“Stay out of this, Bobby,” he growled darkly, but Bobby’s scowl did not disappear.

“I had planned to,” he huffed sarcastically, “but when your boyfriend decided to blow up my TV, I figured that some meddling might be justified.”

Dean blinked, his hand freezing in midair on its way to the door.

“Yeah, you heard that right,” Bobby grumbled, noticing his reaction as he straightened up in the rickety old chair he was sitting on. “Don’t worry, I don’t think it was intentional,” he added, “but whatever you did must have made him pretty upset.” 

“I didn’t do anything,” Dean ground out sternly, and Bobby rolled his eyes.

“Of course you didn’t,” he said with a snort. “Now why don’t you go ahead and tell me the one about Goldilocks, while you’re at it?”

“Very funny,” Dean growled.

“Yeah, absolutely hysterical,” Bobby shot back, just as unamused. “I’m sure Cas would have laughed too if he hadn’t been so busy taking out his hurt feelings on my furniture.”

“Well, it was his own damn fault!” Dean snapped. “If he had just—!”

“Save it, boy,” Bobby bit out, and Dean’s mouth shut with an indignant snap. “It takes two to start a fight. Even though angel boy in there can be a proper ass, we both know you ain’t exactly Gandhi’s little poster-boy either.” 

Dean’s jaw clenched, but Bobby looked like he couldn’t have cared less about the young man’s indignant glowering. Instead, he simply kept looking at the full-grown man in front of him like he was a disobedient twelve-year old.

“Now, I don’t care  _ how _ you do it,” he declared firmly, “I don’t care how long it  _ takes _ , but you’re gonna get a hold of yourself and  _ sort this mess out _ before another angelic temper tantrum sends my house soaring into the sky in pieces.”

“There’s nothing to sort,” Dean growled and Bobby’s eyes narrowed threateningly.

“Don’t you even try that with me,” he warned. “Someone pissed your angel off and it sure as hell wasn’t me or Sam.”

“Doesn’t make it my fault,” Dean insisted stubbornly.

“But it makes it  _ your problem _ ,” Bobby retorted sharply. Dean glared at him, throat working furiously to come up with something to say to that, but without success. Instead, he turned away, sending his glare into the tree line surrounding the property. He looked as if he was trying to will the entire area into splinters.

_ Fix it _ , he thought sourly. Why the hell was he the one who had to  _ fix  _ anything? Didn’t Cas owe him some sort of apology too? Sure, Dean had not handled the situation at the gas station as well as he probably could have, but for Cas to close the bond like that was just immature and childish! Dean would never have done such a thing! And how come Bobby fawned over Cas so much all of a sudden anyway? What the hell had Castiel told that old geezer while Dean was out? Was he trying to pin this on Dean? Turn Sam and Bobby against him in some sort of retaliation? What the  _ hell? _

He gritted his teeth, the anger inside him rising the more he thought about it. When his knuckles gave off an ominously loud crack as his hands balled into fists by his sides, Bobby sighed, the soft creak of his chair breaking the tense silence on the porch.

“You know…” the older man said slowly, “When Karen was alive – when she was still herself, I mean – we had a few fallouts of our own.”

Dean didn’t look up, even if he found his mind instantly snapping back into the present when he heard Bobby mention his late wife. He still kept his eyes intently fixed in the distance, still too pissed to even look in the direction of the actual house.

“I’ve always been a grouchy old bastard, I’m not ashamed to admit that,” Bobby confessed, “but Karen… I swear; that woman could make a hellhound downright piss itself when she was angry.”

Dean dared a quick glance at the old man at that, taken aback by the crude choice of words. Bobby leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees while looking at the floorboards in front of his feet, seemingly talking more to himself than to Dean.

“She never cursed when we fought,” he mumbled. “Never used harsh language or raised her voice at me. It was the  _ tone _ that hurt, you know... The way she could say the simplest thing and still make it feel like a slap to the face.” 

Something sharp panged inside Dean’s chest; the memory of Castiel’s chilly voice snarling at him still all too clear. His eyes darted back to the woods once more when Bobby carried on talking.

“Every word was like getting a bucket of cold water dumped over your head, and she had this thing she did with her shoulders that always made her look so cold and distant.” Bobby shook his head and sighed again, a slow exhale of air that spoke of both loss and adoration beyond the use of words. 

“Once, it lasted for over three days,” he recalled. “I slept on the couch the entire time. Tried to make it seem as if it was my own idea, but we both knew it was because I was too darn scared to suggest anything else.” 

Dean listened with his lips pressed together into a thin line as he waited for the story to continue, but nothing came, and instead, the same loaded silence lowered itself over the porch once more. The seconds ticked by, and the amount of time passed had grown threateningly close to minutes when Dean finally decided to take the bait.

“So how did you fix it?” he murmured tightly. Bobby shrugged.

“Turned out once we started talking again, neither of us could remember what the fight had been about,” he admitted. Dean’s eyebrows shot up as he sent the old man a look over his shoulder.

“Really?” he asked.

“Really,” Bobby nodded. “However, from that moment on, we agreed never to let an argument get that out of hand again. To never go to sleep angry, even if it meant not going to sleep at all.” He glanced up, the sharp look in his eyes fixing Dean to the spot. “Do you understand what I’m telling you, boy?” he said sternly. 

Dean bit down on the inside of his cheek, jaw working furiously for a moment before he eventually bowed his head, nodding silently in defeat.

He swallowed, listening to the wood of the chair creak when Bobby leaned back into his seat again. His shoulders slumped, the weight of them almost making it hard to breathe.

“Where is he?” he mumbled, and Bobby motioned with his head towards the door.

“Inside,” he said. “Once he started cursing in Enochian, Sam shoved me out the door to wait for you while he tried to calm him down. Whatever the hell you told him, it hit the guy pretty hard,” he added with a firm look. Dean ignored the sudden stab of guilt he felt at that, focusing his attention on the other part of the sentence instead.

“I didn’t know there were any Enochian curses,” he muttered and Bobby shrugged.

“I’ve never come across a language that didn’t have any,” he admitted. “Though, I guess they are a bit more refined than ours, being divine and all…. From what I could tell they all seemed to take a whole lot of time to pronounce.”

“Did he say anything else?” Dean asked, the suspicion of Cas trying to sell him out resurfacing with renewed force, but disappeared just as quickly when Bobby simply shook his head, sighing.

“Nothing that made any sense. Last I heard he was rambling about leaving…”

Dean’s heart froze, his stomach making a nauseated flip.

“…but it’s been quiet in there for quite a while now.” Bobby finished.

Dean’s eyes automatically went to the kitchen windows, the white shutters there blocking his view. Again, his gut turned over on itself as the very thought of Castiel not being in there anymore made his knees go weak and shaky. 

What if he had left? Was that what the closing of the bond had meant? That Cas was gone? No, if Cas had left, then Sam would not be in there still… Then again, if Cas had been upset enough to blow a hole in Bobby’s TV, then what if he had accidentally—? 

No, no, no, Cas wouldn’t hurt Sam. That wasn’t even a possibility.  Cas was still there. He was in there, and he— 

His thoughts dissolved into a jumble of possible scenarios, all of them originating from the sudden, horrible realization that Dean had absolutely no idea what to expect. If he went in there – which, let’s face it, he would be forced to soon enough – how big was the possibility that he would find himself greeted by hard, blue eyes and an angel blade to his throat? Perhaps he should try to open the bond again, just to, like, get a heads up on the situation? Or perhaps he should—

“Don’t just stand there, you big sissy. Get your ass in there,” Bobby said gruffly, and Dean was ripped out of his brooding with a startled jump. He gave the old man a flicker of a glare before he reached for the door, and he swiftly pressed the handle down before the vicious tremor that rushed through his body had any time to make him re-think his decision.

The hallway inside the house was empty, and the air felt heavy and loaded as Dean closed the door behind him. There was a low murmur of voices coming from the kitchen, and Dean’s pulse started racing when the familiar, although muffled, gravel of Castiel’s voice reached his ears. 

He could hear Sam’s voice too, and the sound travelled through the air in an almost whisper. His brother’s words were just as low as Castiel’s had been, and it was obvious that the two were having a very serious conversation. Sam said something that Dean couldn’t quite make out, but he recognized the tone. Honest, puppy-eyed concern, laced with just enough scolding objection not to make it sound insulting. 

Dean scowled when Castiel answered, the apologetic murmur of the angel’s voice completely contradicting the scenery Dean had expected to find. If he didn’t know any better, he would’ve said that Sam was actually in the middle of giving Castiel the same talk Bobby had just provided for Dean mere moments ago. He slowed, placing Sam’s new charger next to the staircase before making his way through the hall, the voices growing louder. 

“Listen, Cas,” he heard Sam say, “I know the two of you are having a fight, and I know it’s tough and all, but there’s really no need for you to do this.”

“I have to,” came Castiel’s answer, stern and tight, and Dean’s insides froze. Was he talking about leaving? Holy shit, was he leaving right  _ now? _

“Dean will come around, he always does,” Sam pleaded. “I mean, don’t you think you’re overreacting just a bit here?”

“No.”

Legs growing heavy, limbs struggling to move forward as if he was wading his way through syrup, Dean inched himself closer to the door. His entire being was screaming in reluctance to face whatever scenery awaited him in the other room, but he knew that lingering out here would only make it look as if he was eavesdropping. That would only serve to send him into another, also very unpleasant situation, and so, he forced his body to carry him the final two steps all the way up to the doorway leading into the kitchen – feeling like a mouse walking willingly straight into a trap.

Castiel was standing with his back towards him when Dean emerged in the door, the angel seemingly completely submerged in the task of fiddling with something in the sink. Sam was half leaning, half sitting on the edge of the kitchen table, his brow deeply furrowed while his hands fidgeted in his lap. His mouth was open, as if he had just been about to say something else, but when he spotted Dean, he closed it again.

His shoulders squared as he straightened up, and his eyes widened as his gaze flickered towards Cas. When Dean took the first step onto the old wooden floor of the kitchen, Castiel looked up and visibly stiffened, shoulders pulling up at the sight of Dean standing there before him. It was with a sharp pang of loss that Dean realized that he could actually visualize how the angel’s wings would have drawn in tight around the other man’s body in defence, had they still been there.

Bobby’s words came drifting back to him, a memory less than a few minutes old, but with the equal force of a punch to the face.

_ …she had this thing she did with her shoulders… _

He swallowed hard, and then he straightened up, bracing himself for whatever would happen next.

Sam didn’t say anything. He just gave Castiel another quick glance from the corner of his eye and then leaned off the table and walked out. 

As he passed, he sent Dean a look that clearly said ‘ _Dean,_ _you’re my brother and I love you, but sometimes you are just such a fucking jerk._ ’ Then he disappeared into the living room, and Dean felt the unsettling sensation of being thrown into the cage with a man-eating tiger when his brother proceeded to shut the double doors firmly behind him.

Dean swallowed again as he turned his eyes back to Castiel. The angel was still looking right at him, every muscle in his body tense and rigid. His jaw was tight, and his chest was rising and falling steadily, as if in defiance, yet somehow Dean could not shake the feeling that he was, in reality, staring down a deer that had just been caught in the headlights of a speeding truck.

Dean opened his mouth, grappling for something to say, when his gaze unintentionally landed on the counter next to Castiel’s hands. He frowned as the flour-covered bench and the two large pie tins filled with dough sitting on top of it momentarily threw him off track. Then, the contents of the sink finally caught his eye; the heap of green apples gathered there seemingly glowering back at him.

“Are you making pie?” he asked in confusion, because really, this was  _ so  _ not the scenario he had expected to find. Castiel followed his gaze to glance at the fruit lying in the sink. Then he shrugged.

“I needed something to occupy my thoughts,” he mumbled, and yeah, Dean had no idea how to answer that.

“Oh…” he mumbled sheepishly, slowly feeling more and more like a complete idiot the longer he stood there. Dammit, he had been sort of hoping that Castiel would be all angelic fury by now, and he had been preparing himself for a fight that would most likely end up with one or two fists to his face before it was over, but this… This was just…  _ wrong _ . 

Castiel was looking as if he had spent the hour Dean was gone fighting off every bad dream that had ever haunted mankind. The look in his eyes was so tired, so dull in the faint light that seeped in through the window shutters, and Dean didn’t know what the hell to do. His entire body was coiled and tight, fight mode still on, but now there was no one here to fight, and it wasn’t what he had imagined at all!

“Dean…” 

The sound of Castiel’s voice snapped him out of his momentary daze, and the look Castiel gave him when he turned back to him was pleading, riddled with confusion and worry. The sight of it made Dean’s throat run dry. He hadn’t seen that look since that day he woke up all Angel Tazed in Bobby’s guestroom, and he found that he didn’t like it one more bit now than he had back then.

“Are we… done?” Castiel said slowly, and it took Dean more than a few moments of complete horror to realize what he was being asked.

_ Done fighting,  _ he forcefully told himself.  _ He means are you done fighting. _

“I don’t know,” he said quietly. “Are we?”

“I’m not sure…” Castiel breathed back, and then his brow furrowed, eyes darting down to glare at the floor. “We don’t usually fight like this,” he muttered, the tone of his voice sounding as if their situation was a pet that had suddenly decided to misbehave, but Dean knew what he meant. Their fights, when they weren’t trying to avoid the fact that they were having them, usually involved a lot more fisting of fabric and crowding against walls, but this… This was different. This was more… painful.

“No, we don’t…” he agreed softly. Castiel flickered a glance at him from underneath dark lashes before turning away, teeth pulling at his lower lip. Dean felt as if the air had been knocked right out of his lungs. How the hell had this happened? Everything had been fine this morning. When had things gone so  _ wrong? _

Castiel wasn’t looking at him anymore, face still turned towards the floor. Dean shifted his weight from one foot to the other while the sound of their respective breathing echoed loud and rude in the sudden silence of the kitchen.

Dean didn’t want to fight. He had never intended there to even  _ be _ a fight. He just wanted things back to the way they had been before; when the gnawing on the inside of his chest wasn’t trying to eat him alive, and Castiel would meet his gaze head on like usual. Now, Castiel was just avoiding him, as if he was afraid of whatever message Dean’s eyes would tell him if he were to look.

Dean swallowed, throat bone dry, and this time it was Castiel who shifted on his feet, letting out a pained sigh before taking a deep breath, as if steeling himself.

“Dean,” he blurted out. Hurried. Desperate. “I’m sorry, I never meant to—”

“No, no, Cas, that’s—” Dean licked his lips, his voice low and throaty as he cut the other off. “I’m the one who should be apologizing. I behaved like a first class jackass back there, I— I shouldn’t have snapped at you like that.”

“And I should not have tried to force you into a conversation you did not want to have,” Castiel confessed. “I pushed the matter too far, and I apologize.”

“It wasn’t as if we hadn’t talked about it before…” Dean admitted, before adding, softer, “or like we won’t have to talk about it again…”

Castiel flinched, and a wry grimace crept over his face. 

“To be honest, I never want to do any of this again,” he murmured.

“Yeah, me neither…” Dean sighed. “So…” he whispered, “are we… good then?”

“Are you still angry?” Castiel retorted immediately, and Dean’s chest drew together tight, the weight from before returning with full force. 

Was he angry? Not as much as he was hurting, that’s for sure. Then again, if it meant that things would go back to normal, then he would happily say that it was all forgotten – over and done with – but at the same time, that wouldn’t be fair. Because what Cas had done was not fair, just as his own reaction had not been fair, and Bobby was right; they needed to  _ fix this.  _ God knew things like this always managed to find a way to come back and bite them in the ass later if they didn’t.

“I’m not angry,” Dean sighed, “but I’m not happy either, I’m—” He threw his hands out to the sides, sighing again before slumping his shoulders and closing his eyes.

“We’re going to have to talk about this, Cas,” he murmured. “Things are just going to get worse if we don’t, and like you said, I really, really don’t want to do this again. Ever.”

Castiel looked away and Dean gritted his teeth with frustration. Dammit, he just wanted it to be over! He wanted this stale, metallic taste in the back of his throat gone and the fist around his lungs to let go so that he could  _ breathe  _ again, but he knew that it wouldn’t be that easy. Things were never easy, not for them, never. They had to do this, and they had to do this  _ properly, _ or it would end up in a total disaster unlike anything they had been through yet. Dean had no interest of going there – didn’t want to find out the many ways this could turn out wrong. 

He turned his back towards the counter and slid down into a sitting position on the floor, leaning against the cupboard doors in silence. After a few moments of hesitation, Castiel did the same, joining him on the floor with his back propped up against the white, wooden interior. Dean pulled both his legs up to his chest, resting his lower arms on his knees and next to him, Castiel settled into something similar, with one of his legs stretched out straight in front of him.

Neither of them said a word. Dean was searching for the right thing to say and Castiel did not stress him, patiently waiting for him to start talking. Dean kept his eyes fixed on the floor in between his boots, tracing the intricate lines of the worn boards there as if the answer to his struggle could be read in the fibres of the hardwood floor if only he stared at it hard enough.

“It’s not about the sex,” he blurted out suddenly, figuring that getting to the point would probably be the least painful way to approach the subject. Like ripping off a bandaid.

Castiel didn’t say anything, but Dean could feel the intensity of the gaze that was suddenly drilling into the side of his face. As much as Dean knew that Cas wasn’t going to force him to speak, he wouldn’t say that the look digging into him right now was doing wonders for his nerves.

“I mean… it’s about the  _ sex _ , but it’s not about the sex… with you.” He corrected himself, wincing inwardly at his own choice of words. Dammit, they did these things in the movies all the time; it shouldn’t be this hard!

“It’s just— You’re the first guy I’ve— Actually, no, never mind, it’s not about that either.” He waved his hand dismissively, trying desperately to find the right words to describe the emotions currently wrestling around inside his chest. After a few seconds of awkwardly opening and closing his mouth, he eventually clasped his hands together, bracing himself for what he was about to say.

“Look. You want to shove your dick up my ass, I get that,” he ground out, ignoring the embarrassed heat that was slowly crawling its way up his neck, towards his ears. “And yes, the thought scares the living hell out of me, because I—” He cut himself off, licking his lips. “I mean, God… the way you just let me  _ do _ that to you. Fuck, you didn’t even  _ blink _ , you just rolled over and told me to stick it in there as if it was the most natural thing in the world, and I know that it’s not fair, but I can’t do that back, man, I  _ can’t. _ ”

“Because it would make you feel like less of a man,” Castiel murmured. 

“No!” Dean whimpered, tipping his head back against the cupboard with a dull thunk. ”I mean… yes, maybe, I— Listen, can we just forget about all those things I said before?”

“If you say so,” Castiel agreed, but he didn’t sound very hopeful, and Dean closed his eyes.

“Yes, I say so,” he groaned. “Cas, I don’t mind having sex with you. Hell, sex with you is awesome. It’s  _ great _ , really, but… to lie down and spread my legs like that it’s— It’s  _ embarrassing _ .”

Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Castiel turn his head and frown at him, but it wasn’t an unhappy frown, or a frown that indicated that Dean had said something wrong. Instead, it looked like the kind of frown someone makes when they’ve just begun to see the first elusive glimpses of realization, and Dean took a deep breath, deciding to just go with it.

“I was raised to be a hunter,” he said, desperately trying to get his point across. “And being a hunter means that you’re brought up in a certain environment. It’s all guns and knives and blood and death… Emotions don’t belong, they have no place, you know? And this here, with you, I mean, just the fact that I feel the way I do goes against everything I’ve ever been told.”

He leaned his head forward, resting it on top of his arms.

“I lose control when I’m with you,” he whispered. “You make me feel things I’ve been taught not to feel. You make me admit things I’ve been told to keep hidden, to keep locked away, and I can’t  _ quit you _ . I  _ need you _ and it’s fucking  _ terrifying _ .”

“Your lifestyle holds no place for attachments,” Castiel concluded quietly. “That’s what you’ve been raised to believe.”

“Yeah,” Dean agreed with a bitter laugh. “And it’s not exactly the most ideal circuit to announce that you have a sexual relationship with a male angel either…”

“So you’re ashamed of us?” Castiel asked, sounding more than just a little bit hurt, and Dean wished that he could say no, but again that would be too easy. Too  _ simple _ .

“Not all people are as understanding about the whole guy-on-guy concept as you are, Cas,” he explained slowly. “When a guy meets a girl, it’s pretty obvious how things in the bedroom work. Which role gets assigned to who, but with two guys?” He sighed; a tired, broken sound, and damn, he wished that he could find a way to word this better.

“It’s just that people  _ talk _ ,” he continued. “They make shit up, and the truth gets mixed with the lies, and before you know it things have gone from cute and domestic to full-on sex dungeon. I don’t want people talking about us like that, Cas, I don’t— I don’t want them talking like that about  _ you _ .”

He dared a glance to the side, but his eyes refused to travel any higher than the edge of Castiel’s knee. The angel’s posture revealed nothing of his reaction to Dean’s words.

“I’m not ashamed of other hunters finding out about us,” Dean continued quietly, “but fuck, these are people I  _ know _ , Cas. People who knew my dad and who’ve seen me grow up, and to think about them talking about us as if we’re some kind of interspecies sex show makes me feel so goddamn  _ helpless _ . I mean, they will never look at me the same way again. They won’t be able to even hear my name without thinking about the guy who willingly took it up the ass by some harp playing dude with wings.”

“But you haven’t let me—“ Castiel started, and Dean snorted out a laugh, high-pitched and bordering on hysterical.

“Exactly,” he agreed. “I haven’t! And that’s the thing, because even if they say all that stuff about me – even if they talk about how Dean Winchester eagerly drops down on all fours for his gay boyfriend it won’t  _ matter,  _ because I  _ haven’t.  _ Everything’s fine as long as it’s just people talking, but if I  _ did _ it… If I let you do that to me, then suddenly, it won’t be about simple words anymore. I mean, knowing that they’re  _ assuming  _ is one thing, but to hear them talk while knowing that they’re telling the truth is more than I think I can take!”

“Dean…”

“Two months ago I was straight, man,” Dean continued with a low whimper. “I was looking at breasts in magazines, picking up girls in bars, and now I can’t even remember  _ why. _ And the worst part is that I’m not even  _ properly  _ gay. If I was then  _ any _ guy should be able to make me feel like you do, but they  _ don’t! _ I don’t even have a  _ label _ , Cas; do you understand what I’m saying? How am I supposed to handle other people talking about me as if I’m a freak of nature when  _ I  _ don’t even know what the hell I am anymore?”

He drew a shaky breath; a tremble of air that he had to force down his own throat while he waited, his vision blurry with tears he refused to admit were there. He swallowed, the lump in his throat itching and making it hard to breathe. Then Castiel suddenly shifted by his side, scooting closer, and Dean didn’t dare look, or even move when the weight of the other’s head settled against his shoulder, a few stray strands of dark hair tickling against his neck.

“You’re mine…” Castiel mumbled. The words sounded more like a hesitant suggestion than a statement, almost shy, and Dean did  _ not _ bite his lip at that, and the pathetic little sound he choked back was absolutely  _ not _ a sob, god dammit! His body felt crushingly heavy and feathery light all at the same time as Castiel’s words wound their way through his system like springtime melting through the cold, black ice of winter.

“You’ve always been mine… and I yours,” Castiel murmured, and Dean could feel the heat of the other’s breath go straight through the coarse material of his jacket, as were it made of mist. It made him shudder as Castiel’s voice seemed to brush over every single atom of his existence. 

“You speak of labels,” the angel continued, just as soft, “but you were never meant for labels, Dean Winchester. Heaven and Hell alike tried to give you titles and names, confident in their assumption that you would do as you were told and live up to their expectations. They tried to break you, but neither succeeded. Are you going to let humans do what they could not? Is the thought of these people’s opinions of you worth so much that you need to punish yourself like this?”

“Cas…” Dean whimpered, perhaps even begged – he couldn’t say for sure anymore.

“You are  _ mine _ ,” Castiel repeated, firmer. “And you are strong, gentle, caring, stubborn, short tempered and more human than any other creature I have ever encountered. That’s what  _ I _ see, but the truth is that none of those things matter, because the only one who gets to decide who you are is  _ you _ .”

Dean gritted his teeth and nodded, a barely-there movement of his head where it was still resting against his folded arms, showing that he understood and again, he felt the warm puff of breath as Castiel let out a sigh against his shoulder.

“Is there really a need to know anything else?” Castiel whispered, and Dean shook his head because no. No there wasn’t. Not really.

“So  _ if _ we were to… consummate in that way,” the angel continued, being careful to choose his words correctly, “would it still matter what people thought? Would you still be ashamed, even if they were right in assuming what we had done?”

“I guess not…” Dean whispered back with a voice so hoarse he barely recognized it himself. Fuck it, he was  _ not _ going to cry, this was ridiculous!

“So if it’s not shame that’s holding you back, then…?” Castiel asked, moving his head away to look at him while leaving the question unfinished, and Dean bit down on his lower lip, closing his eyes. God, he wished he had the bond up and running again. With the bond, he wouldn’t have to explain the thoughts inside his head. Instead, he could simply have shown them, but that was a luxury he didn’t have anymore, and the notion alone was burning a hole straight through the very core of his soul. 

_ Words _ , he reminded himself forcefully, raking his mind for the vocabulary needed to convey what his mind could not.

“I’m no fucking good at this, Cas…” he whispered, aiming his confession towards the floor. “Me and Sam… we don’t  _ trust _ people. I mean, of course I trust  _ you _ , but what you’re asking me to do is… it’s hard, you know?”

He noticed that his hands were shaking, and he dug his nails harshly into his palms to make it stop, reducing the vicious trembles into a shiver.

“You’re telling me to throw myself off a goddamn cliff here, man,” he grated. “To just, jump over the edge and wait for you to catch me before I hit the bottom. I want to think that you will, I do, but there’s this voice in the back of my head screaming to me that you  _ won’t _ . I’m telling myself that it’s all lies, but I can’t shut it out. No matter what I do, I can’t make it  _ stop _ .” 

He rubbed his forehead against the sleeve of his jacket, trying to will the headache he felt coming on down before it made him incapable of thinking straight.

“So I act like an idiot instead,” he rasped. “I scream at you, and say all these nasty things because I’m a fucking coward, and it’s easier to lash out and be a jerk than to admit that I’m scared.”

He held his breath, heart hammering inside his chest as he waited for an answer, for Castiel to say something in return. Instead of words, he felt the warmth of a hand settle just below his right knee, and he released a gush of breath that left his lungs in a violent shudder, the firm grip of Castiel’s hand tightening in reassurance.

“You humans…” the angel mumbled, as if intrigued. “Constantly saying one thing while meaning another. Not because you want to lie, but because you’re afraid of being lied  _ to. _ ” He sighed, shaking his head. “It’s very contradictive.”

The thumb resting against Dean’s thigh moved in a slow swipe back and forth over the fabric, a seemingly tiny gesture, but with a weight behind it that made Dean’s heart clench.

“You know, I have fears too…” Castiel confessed. “There are so many things about this that are new to me… Not just the physical and emotional aspects, but the human parts as well. Interacting with your kind is so… complicated.” 

Dean nodded, because he knew, of course he knew. Castiel was an angel, a completely different species who had just recently begun to grasp the concept of plain old sarcasm. And here Dean was, assuming that said angel would understand the delicacy of how to respectfully discuss exiting the famous closet. He  _ knew _ , but he had been too stupid to realize it when it actually mattered.

“In Heaven, I was a strategist,” Castiel continued, seemingly going off on a completely different tangent. “I was known for my ability to recognize and plan different approaches of both offensive and defensive nature. Other captains would turn to me for advice, and I would give it without hesitation. There was no code I couldn’t break, no riddle I couldn’t solve and then…” He cut himself off, and Dean heard the soft thud when the angel’s head tipped back and banged softly against the cupboard behind them.

“… then my garrison was assigned the mission to rescue the Righteous Man from the Pit,” he said, sighing. “One of the most important tasks given to us in over two millennia. I think I knew it then, the instant I made the decision to sear part of my grace into your soul, that you would be my undoing.”

“Cas,” Dean whispered, feeling the guilt twist its way through his gut.

“We’ve been over this,” Castiel interrupted before he could continue. “I gave that up for you a long time ago. Everything that I’ve known, everything I ever cared about; the things I thought  _ mattered _ … I did that for you. Not because I had to, or because you forced me. I did it because I  _ wanted _ to. Because for me, it was  _ right. _ ”

The hand on Dean’s thigh slid up, moving over the span of coarse fabric until the tip of a finger brushed against the skin of Dean’s hand, ghosting gently over knuckles and down the back of Dean’s palm in a caress that left fire in its wake.

“You are my everything,” Castiel murmured, “and I will do anything that you ask of me. However, this cliff you speak of is not meant solely for you, but for  _ us. _ I will gladly take that leap with you, should you ask me, but I need you to actually  _ ask _ , Dean.”

Dean nodded. He couldn’t do anything else. He couldn’t speak, could barely  _ think, _ and Castiel’s touch was like a blessing to his soul, making his insides ache to reach out and reciprocate the gesture. But he was frozen, his limbs locked up, and all he could was breathe while his body struggled to hold itself together, the slow slide of Castiel’s thumb over his skin enough to make him feel as if he was about to explode.

“There is time, beloved,” Castiel whispered soothingly, as if sensing his distress. “We have plenty of time.”

Dean let out a final, strained whimper, and then he moved, letting his trembling mind slide over to caress the binding of the bond, asking permission. As he did, he heard Castiel sigh; a relieved sigh that shot an arrow of warmth straight through Dean’s heart, and then the angel opened up his side of the link, and the liquid gold and silver of grace slotted up and pressed against Dean’s soul so tight it seemed to swallow him up completely.

The relief that washed through the bond almost made Dean feel as if his chest had burst open, the cold and dark that had been residing in there being washed out by the light of Castiel’s presence.  He let out a somewhat shocked chuckle, tipping his head back with a thud when the grace proceeded to curl around his body like a giant snake of sunlight winding itself around his limbs.

_ Wow, aren’t you a clingy one? _ he tried to tease, but the tone of his thoughts was drowned out by the pure joy he felt at having the angel close again. He smoothed his mind tenderly over the shimmering sensation inside his head, and Castiel ducked his head away, looking almost embarrassed.

_ Being without the bond for too long is very unpleasant _ , he confessed. 

_ Well, you’re the one who closed it to begin with, _ Dean pointed out, nestling into the grace like a kid with a blanket.

_ I know, _ Castiel sighed and Dean’s brow furrowed, easing up on his possessive grip of the other’s consciousness to refocus his thoughts.

_ Why did you do that, anyway? _ he asked softly, and again, Castiel sighed and closed his eyes.

_ You were so angry, _ he winced.  _  Seeing your soul like that was painful, and I was afraid that— _ He cut himself off, but Dean had already caught a glimpse of the angel’s thoughts. The flash of naked, printed, female shapes, and the sensation of being replaced and insufficient seeping through the angel’s defences. Dean swallowed hard, feeling like even more of an ass than before.

_ You know it felt weird, right? _ he asked, offering the angel an apologetic caress through the bond.  _ Looking at that thing? _

_ How so? _ Castiel glanced at him from the corner of his eye, leaning into the phantom touch with his mind. 

_ I don’t know,  _ Dean confessed. _ It just didn’t feel right… Like something was missing. _

Castiel scowled, as if he didn’t understand, and Dean sighed, rolling his eyes.

_ It wasn’t  _ you _ , okay?  _ he clarified, watching as Castiel’s brows shot up in what could only be interpreted as surprise.  _ Sure, the pictures were nice and all, but it just… It’s not what I want anymore. _

He expected another wave of relief to ripple through the bond at that, but instead he was met with a pulse of shame. He frowned.

“What?” he asked out loud and Castiel flinched, another abashed flash shooting through the link before he averted his eyes to the side. Next thing, Dean sucked in a sharp breath through his teeth, his eyes widening when the kitchen faded into grey, the walls swaying as if submerged under water. Images began to flash before his eyes as the events of this morning began to play out in front of him all over again, only this time, he found himself standing on the outside, looking in on himself.

He saw the way he had not even looked up when Castiel came to sit down next to him during breakfast, how he had seemed reluctant and angry about showing any physical affection towards the angel in front of his family. Watched his own abrupt departure from the house, followed by the sudden, unannounced closing of the bond. He could feel Castiel’s confusion and fear when he had caught Dean eyeing the skin mag, and how much it had hurt when Dean had insinuated that he didn’t consider the two of them to be physically or mentally exclusive. How the topic of Dean’s responses to Castiel’s touches did nothing but anger him even more, as if Dean didn’t want him anymore, and oh God, is this what it had all looked like?!

“Jesus…” Dean breathed, his voice cracking as the word left his mouth. Instantly, the world returned to normal, and the sudden explosion of colors in his surroundings nearly made him wince. Castiel was looking at him again, but this time Dean could barely will himself to face him, the shame sitting like a nauseating clump in the pit of his stomach.

“Cas,” he croaked, “I’m sorry, I— Oh God, I’m such a fucking idiot...!”

His gaze fell on the partially peeled apple still resting in the angel’s other hand, and he closed his eyes, taking a deep, painfully slow breath.

“ _ Please _ tell me that’s  _ not  _ the reason you’re baking pies,” he begged. Castiel’s eyes followed Dean’s to land on the apple, his grace flinching slightly as if he had just been caught doing something he wasn’t allowed to.

“Partially,” he admitted sheepishly, that adorable shade of pink welling through the bond once more. “Sam didn’t think it would be necessary, but… I figured that if I had done something to anger you, then it was the least I could do.” 

Fuck, Dean didn’t know whether he should laugh or cry, but the sound that slipped between his lips seemed to balance it out. It pushed its way out of his mouth in a mix between a chuckle and a sob, and he buried his face in his hands, steadying himself.

“Jesus,” he whimpered once more, before he shifted his weight and unceremoniously crowded the angel against the kitchen counter, not giving Cas a chance to object before he smothered his mouth with a kiss that forced the angel to slip further down the surface of the cupboard door. Dean wrapped his arms around the other’s waist and pressed in close to his body, just as the two of them toppled over to lie flat on the floor with Dean’s right knee in between Castiel’s thighs to support his own weight.

“Don’t ever let me do something stupid like that again,” Dean growled out against Castiel’s mouth, barely leaving room for the angel’s breathless ‘okay’ before he dove back in. Breathing through his nose, he fed every inch of regret and apology he could muster into the kiss, until he felt the last shreds of doubt that had been looming over Castiel’s grace disintegrate beneath the touch of his lips. Not that he stopped after that, no. He kept going, licking into the angel’s mouth for a good while longer, feeling the tension melt out of the other man’s frame until Castiel was practically limp in his arms – the feeble grip around Dean’s jacket and the lazy movement of their mouths being the only sign that the angel was still conscious. Then, as the first, breathless indication of a moan slowly made its way through the angel’s mind, Dean pulled away, nipping lightly at Castiel’s lower lip and relishing in the way the fingers clutching into his sleeves tightened, as if to keep him in place.

“There…” Dean whispered contently. “ _ Now _ we’re good.”

Castiel huffed out a displeased sound that echoed through the bond, but Dean ignored him. Smiling, he reached to the side and picked up the apple that had escaped the grip of Castiel’s fingers and ended up on the floor.

“Here.” He offered it to the angel, suppressing a chuckle when Castiel simply frowned at it, his hair slightly rumpled and the collar of his shirt askew, as if he blamed the apple for the fact that Dean was no longer kissing him.

“Just wash it off, it’ll be good as new,” Dean promised as he gently pushed the apple against Castiel’s chest. Cas took it, giving him a reprimanding snort and a twitch of lips in return as they both climbed to their feet.

“I guess this means that I’m still making pies then?” he asked with a single eyebrow raised, and Dean chuckled as he stepped forward to press a new, soft kiss to the stubble of Castiel’s cheek.

“Oh, you’re making pies alright,” he assured him. “You try to escape and I’ll light the exits up with holy fire until you’re done.”

“How very romantic of you,” Castiel snorted, but the amused flicker of light inside Dean’s head gave him away, and once again, there was a painful clench in Dean’s chest when the phantom rustle of mirthful wings ghosted through his mind. Then suddenly, Castiel’s grace shifted, a startled horror flashing through the bond, and the next thing Dean knew Castiel was brushing his fingers against the back of his hand, moving down to graze against the dried scabs of blood along the side of his palm.

“You’re bleeding,” Castiel said sharply and Dean pulled the hand back, shrugging awkwardly.

“Oh… Yeah, that, that’s— Uh, I—”

Castiel’s eyes widened and the bond instantly darkened with guilt, but Dean pushed it away.

“C’mon, Cas, it’s not that bad,” he promised.

“It is,” Castiel objected firmly.

“I’m a grown ass man,” Dean snorted, “I can take a bit of scraped skin.”

“Well, I can’t,” Castiel declared, and then he resolutely grabbed hold of Dean’s hand and brought it to his lips, pressing a tender kiss against the injured skin. Dean felt the familiar, icy shudder wash through his limbs when grace layered itself over the wound, healing it to leave his hand smooth and clean once more.

“You learn that move from one of your sappy sitcoms?” he asked when the angel pulled his lips away, though his attempt of sarcasm came out far too dazed to be taken even remotely seriously.

“Actually, I learned that from you,” Castiel corrected. When Dean looked like a living question mark he added, “ _ Dangerous Liaisons _ . You watched it when you were thirteen. Sam was asleep and you father was out. You were channel surfing, saw it and thought it was a nice gesture. Then the blonde girl took her shirt off and you got an erection and started—”

“Whoa!” Dean cut him off, clamping a firm hand over the angel’s mouth while ignoring the twinkle of amused blue the action brought him in return. “Okay, so you got it from me, that’s— Thank you, Cas, I get it.”

Hot air puffed against his skin in a low chuckle, and then Dean pulled his hand off with a squeaky noise when Castiel’s tongue darted out to lick a wet mess over the centre of his palm.

“Ew, man, that’s so gross!”

He wiped his hand off on the back of his jeans, grimacing at the way Castiel was smirking at him.

“Yeah, laugh it up,” he muttered. “You still have pies to make, and I expect them to be fucking Michelin standard.”

“Aren’t they always?” Castiel retorted confidently.

“Cute,” Dean snorted, but then he leaned in and gave the angel a quick kiss on the cheek before turning around, heading for the door.

“Where are you going?” Castiel asked.

“I have some research to do.” 

“About what?” Castiel frowned.

“Jumping off cliffs,” Dean answered cryptically. To make his point clearer, he then sent the angel the same suggestive image of himself sprawled out on Bobby’s kitchen table that Castiel had shown him before, hoping that the other would take the hint.  He almost broke into a grin when he felt the startled surprise and excitement the bond gave him in return. “Besides, I still have a war to win, remember?” he added with a sly wink, and Castiel snorted, rolling his eyes to the ceiling.

_ Good luck with that _ , he sent through the link. Dean’s grin widened even further before he swallowed, lowering his voice when he remembered something.

“Yeah, uh, just one thing…” he asked. “You think you could, you know, tune out of my head again for a little while?” He gestured to his temple and Castiel tilted his head to the side in silent question. “It’s nothing weird or anything,” Dean promised. “It’s just… I’d like to do this on my own, you know? If I’m going to panic then I’d rather have my head to myself while I do it.”

The crease of worry that had been about to form on the angel’s brow slowly lightened, and then Castiel smiled, just a barely-there twitch of his lips before he nodded.

“I understand,” he said gently, and Dean gave another relieved smile.

“Thanks man. You know, why don’t you, like, go un-smite Bobby’s TV in the meantime while I…?” he motioned towards the guestroom with his thumb, but at the mention of Bobby’s TV, the bond instantly washed over with remorse and abashment.

“I will make sure to get it done,” Castiel promised solemnly as he immediately turned away from the sink to head towards the door leading into the living room, but Dean held up a warning finger, stopping him in his tracks.

“Uh-uh,” he reprimanded. “ _ After _ the pie.” 

Castiel sighed, rolling his eyes to the ceiling.

“After the pie,” he repeated obediently. Dean fired off another grin and a quick kiss through the bond while backing out of the kitchen and into the hallway.

_ Don’t peek! _ he ordered, turning the corner. He felt Castiel’s grace give an affectionate pulse of amusement through the bond before the link went mute, the angel closing it in obligation to Dean’s wishes, which to be honest was a relief beyond words. After the revelation of what Dean had considered to be playful teasing had actually turned out to be nothing but cruel emotional torture for the angel, Dean was utterly convinced that he would not have been capable of closing the bond by himself for at least a week. 

Walking into the living room he spotted his brother sitting on the couch, submerged in the task of hooking his phone up to the new charger Dean had brought home. A pair of earplugs was firmly shoved in place inside his ears, attached to the apparatus in his giant hands, and he was seemingly oblivious to the fact that Dean had left the kitchen. Being the older brother that he was, Dean used the opening to walk straight up and snatch Sam’s unmonitored laptop from coffee table.

“Hey!” Sam scrambled take it back, various chords and technical devices flying around his head as he launched himself forward, but Dean was already heading for the door with the laptop cradled tightly against his chest.

“Just a few minutes,” he promised, “I won’t be long, I swear. Thanks man!” Dean gave his sibling a little wave just as he disappeared around the corner, quickly continuing down the hall to the guestroom (which, to be honest, had more or less become his and Castiel’s room by now). He shut the door tightly behind him the moment he got inside, and as he turned the key, he could hear the lock slide into place with a satisfying ‘click’.

He was sure that Cas wouldn’t come snooping, but he didn’t have the same faith in his younger brother. Right now, he  _ really _ didn’t feel like joining Sam in another one of his caring-and-sharing-talks, because quite frankly, he had more important things to do… 

He climbed onto the bed and sat himself down, cross-legged with the laptop in front of him, sparing himself only a moment of hesitation before he flipped it open. The drive booted up, going from standby mode to operative in just a few seconds, and once it was done loading, he opened up the web browser and headed straight for Google. He looked at the empty white space of the search field, sending one last look at the door and a guarded glance towards the silent bond inside his head before cracking his knuckles and drawing a mouthful of air into his lungs. 

The deep breath before the dreaded plunge.

“Alright, let’s do this…” he murmured. Quickly, before he had the chance to change his mind, he typed the words ‘gay sex’ into the search field and hit enter with a sharp tap of his index finger.

A vast list containing links with numerous variations of the two words immediately appeared across the page. Offerings of free videos, live sex chats, short-term relationship contacts and everything in between were all neatly stacked right before his fingertips, and so far it was all good… except for the fact that none of them were what he was currently looking for.

It was laughable really; the one time he actually wanted to do some proper research, and he ended up exclusively with porn. Awesome…

Not allowing himself to get put down by the obvious failure, he tried another combination of words, adding the word ‘anal’ at the front of the row in the search field before hitting ‘search’ again. This time, he got more luck.

The first link at the top of the list seemed to be an anal stimulation guide for girls, written by some chick named Alice. He skipped that one, seeing as despite its name, it still talked more about lady parts than anything else. The second link was a YouTube video which had him scrambling for the volume controls in frantic panic when a male voice unceremoniously and  _ very loudly _ began explaining how to best prepare oneself for gay sex. It only took him a couple of seconds, however, to realize that it was a video aimed for the topping party of the couple. Although educational, it still didn’t mention any of the things he was actually trying to find. Dammit, he couldn’t be the first guy to ask this question, there had to be  _ something _ …!

He returned to Google and scrolled down a few more links before stopping and scrolling back up, reading the headline that had caught his eye one more time.

‘When You Do Gay Anal Sex At First Time How You Feel?’

Granted, it wasn’t the most impressive grammatical composition, but it was the best he had come across so far. Hopeful, he clicked the link and yes, the question was honest enough, filed in the mature section of the forum. His hope was quickly replaced by disappointment when he began reading the answers, which all turned out to be very poorly written porn stories. Elaborate enough, sure, but still very, very poor, and obviously, painfully  _ fake _ . Even  _ Dean _ knew that a virgin guy couldn’t possibly be  _ that _ enthusiastic about getting a dick shoved through his backdoor without lube  _ or _ prepping.

Returning to the search engine yet again, he didn’t even bother with clicking through to the second page. Instead, he returned to the top, glaring at his search as if he could will the letters there to form the correct combination that would help him find the answer he was after. 

“Okay, how about this one…?” he muttered, taking inspiration from the link he had just visited and typed in the words ‘Anal orgasm feeling’ into the search field.

Oh, perhaps he should have started with that one?

The first link directed him to Wikianswers where someone had asked the same question as before, only this time with correct English grammar. The person who answered seemed to really have put a lot of genuine effort into their response.

As he scanned through the text, he read the words ‘pleasurable’ and ‘overwhelming’, both making his stomach tighten with a feeling that he couldn’t quite place. It was a sensation of doing something bad, something shameful and forbidden, but at the same time it was also strangely calming, this mature sort of serenity lowering itself over his mind as he continued to read the words before him.

Apparently, if one were to believe the confession of this anonymous person, an anal orgasm was something going way beyond the feeling of a normal shoot off, depending on how sensitive you were. Dean’s mind immediately returned to the memory of Castiel’s grace sliding up against him during breakfast, shoving him over the edge of orgasm so abruptly he had barely been able to understand what happened. Did the fact that he had come from just that touch on the outside of him mean that he was considered responsive? And if so, what would the real thing feel like, if Castiel was actually  _ inside…? _

The thought made his gut do that strange, uncanny thing again, only this time there was the unmistakable tingle of arousal tossed into the mix. Okay, so this might not be such a terrible idea after all… An orgasm that was more intense than a standard one could only be good, right?

He continued to read, and the guy on the Q&A site continued his answer by describing how after the orgasm, the prostate would often get even more sensitive than before. He mentioned the word ‘tickling’ a lot, and Dean wasn’t sure if he thought that sounded exciting or completely horrifying. 

He clicked back to the Google page and continued down while reading through the link descriptions, clicking around for a minute or two in search for another source to the newly found information he had just been given. The rest of the links turned out to be basically repetitions of the question he had already read. Most of the answers given here were just varying and unimaginative forms of “fuck you, faggot”, courtesy of some aggressive gay-hating lurker, who apparently stalked the anal-threads of gay forums. Oh, the irony...

Then, of course, there was the new truckload of porn that inevitably caught up with the seriousness at the bottom of the page, and yeah, Dean might be curious, but he wasn’t ready to go full on porn-surfing just yet.

Scrolling back to the top of the page, however, his eyes landed on the small selection of pictures related to his search that Google had been kind enough to provide him with, and he bit down on his lower lip, worrying the skin there with his teeth. 

It wouldn’t be porn-surfing. Not really. Google images weren’t exactly shaming territory… 

Tentatively, as if doing it slowly wouldn’t make his intentions as obvious, he dragged the cursor to click on the image-section of the webpage instead. The disappointment that barged in and hit him across the back of the head when all he found were pictures of naked women and sex toys caught him more than just slightly off guard. 

Alright then, back to “gay anal sex”, and this time the screen filled up with pictures of dicks, asses and men. Grunting, sweating and (from the looks of it at least) screaming in pain an awful lot.

“Oh god…” Dean grimaced because really?  _ Really _ ? That didn’t fit at all with the description of blissful and overwhelming that he had just read. What the hell?

Slightly disgusted, he hovered over a few pictures – and, oh God, was that  _ candlewax _ on that guy’s balls?? – contemplating whether to click them up, but he quickly decided that no, no way in hell. He wasn’t ready for this, it was too soon, too  _ weird! _ He was just about to click the window down and forget he ever went there, when a picture at the bottom corner of the screen caught his attention.

It was picture of a guy, of course. The photo had been taken as if the camera was angled straight down from the ceiling, leaving the man visible only from the throat down. He was lying on a bed with both his legs hoisted up against his chest, with another man’s cock buried deep inside him as he jerked off his own, rather impressive dick. His body was slender and muscular, and Dean noted that he looked almost a little bit like Cas. Perhaps a bit too wide over the chest, but still, very much alike. 

He clicked the image up, not really thinking about what he was doing other than that he wanted to take a closer look, but before he could react or do anything else, the screen gave a quick blink and he found himself automatically transferred to the image’s original website.

He braced himself, expecting an onslaught of more hairy, grunting, sweaty men along with an infinity of pop-up ads for penis enlargements. Instead, the screen instantly filled up with a subtle blue color, and even though that seemed a bit weird, it was, well, actually quite a relief. Blue was good, blue was… calming. 

The blue was soon crowned with the website’s title, and it was with a slight eye roll that Dean realized he had ended up on one of those websites that didn’t even know how to spell words right. Sure, it was probably considered quirky and fun in certain circles, but he just found it to be stupid. What was so wrong about correct spelling anyway?

This particular site seemed to be a mix between several text forums, photo albums, and instant messaging conversations. The search field at the top right quietly informed him that he was at the moment viewing the results for the search ‘gay porn’, though when he asked himself later, he couldn’t for the life of him understand what the hell close-ups of hands and pictures of food had to do with porn. He continued scrolling nonetheless, deciding that since he was already here, he could at least look for the picture that had led him there in the first place.

It didn’t take long, however, before the thought of the image had been thoroughly pushed to the back of his mind as he skimmed through the content of the site. There were a few text posts with people bragging about what great sex they just had, while others seemed to be complaining about how they didn’t get enough of the same thing. Others didn’t even touch the subject of porn or sex with a six feet pole, so he had no idea what they were even doing there. It all gave him a slight immature vibe, as if he were looking at a collection of high school confessions, and he soon disregarded the writing altogether, focusing solely on the pictures and images he saw instead.

The mood regarding gay porn on the site seemed completely different from the one he had gotten off of Google. So far, he had not seen a single biker thug, or even gag-ball, and most of the people seemed to be rather young, spanning from his own age and down from the looks of it and – wait a minute, did that picture just  _ move _ ? 

Fascinated, he watched the gif images play out before his eyes as he continued further and further down the infinite length of the page. Even though he sometimes came across a few sets containing graphic close-ups that he honestly could have done without, he had to admit that most of them were actually not… that bad. Once you got over the fact that there was more than one dick involved, of course.

The content of the pictures actually spanned everything from gay couples kissing or making out while grinding against each other in their underwear to full-on hardcore fucking. Dean found himself pulled in by the images, brow furrowed and lips parted as he focused his attention on the facial expressions of the individuals before him. These fit more with the description of orgasmic high that he had been given earlier, and judging by the pace of their movements, it basically looked as if the men bottoming were climaxing with every single thrust from the guy pumping into them.

The memory of Cas emerged inside his head, sliding to the surface like a bubble rising through water. He remembered how the angel had reacted when Dean was inside him that time; how he had trembled, moaning and gasping for more, begging for Dean to move, and suddenly, it all made so much more sense.

Dean had known for a long time – it was practically common knowledge nowadays, after all – that a man’s prostate was supposedly able to make you feel all kinds of good, if stimulated the right way, but he hadn’t exactly thought about trying it out for himself. It did come with a certain sense of… hygiene, after all, but from the looks of it now, perhaps he should at least begin to entertain the possibility? 

He looked at the moving picture in front of him, at the guy who was currently clutching the armrest of a couch with his jaw slack in a silent, yet seemingly euphoric moan while his partner thrust into him from behind. For a second, Dean imagined what it would feel like if that were him and Cas. If Dean was the one clutching around the leather of that couch with Castiel’s hands on his hips, holding him up and fucking into him, slow and dirty just like that. The spark that thought set off in the centre of his gut was almost enough to make moan out loud.

He continued scrolling, sorting through the different posts, and there it was; the picture from before. Dean swallowed down a lump in his throat as his finger halted over the touchpad, because sweet mother of God, there was an entire  _ set _ of them. And they were  _ moving! _

The Cas look-alike was breathing rapidly, chest rising and falling, abs clenching, his hand a blur as it moved over the thick erection on the screen. Dean was already in the middle of mentally reading the subtitles ‘ _ harder… please, harder! _ ’ on the third picture, imagining what the words would sound like in Castiel’s voice, when a close to pornographic sound reached his ears. 

His hand was already shooting forth to turn off the computer’s speakers when he halted himself, staring at the screen as the horrible realization pushed through his mind and notified him that the sound had come from  _ him. _ His heart was suddenly pounding abnormally loud inside his ears, his blood rushing south, and fuck, he was  _ hard _ for Christ’s sake!  _ Hard  _ from watching  _ gay porn _ with  _ dudes _ fucking other  _ dudes _ in the  _ ass!  _

He quickly clicked the window down and shoved the laptop away, as if it might lash out and bite him if he kept it too close. He ordered himself take several deep, calming breaths to keep the panic from rising in his throat, while firmly informing his own brain that it was a little too late to have a massive gay-panic now, yes, far too late. He already fucked a guy. He was celestially  _ married  _ to a guy. Freaking out over a hard-on from watching two other guys fuck shouldn’t be such a big deal, it really shouldn’t! 

It was sex. Sex was sex and sex was  _ good _ , end of story. Sex with Cas, especially, was very, very good and that’s what this was about; sex with Cas. Sex on top of him, or under him,  _ inside _ him.

Resolutely, he picked the laptop back up and then proceeded to place it safely on the floor. Then he laid down on the bed, steadying his breathing while trying to force the thought of Castiel’s naked body out of his mind, but without much success. The phantom voice of the angel had been put on a loop inside his head, the pleading ‘ _ faster, Dean, oh please _ ,’ making it hard to breathe. He winced, feeling his erection doing the exact opposite of disappearing inside his boxers as it pushed against the fly of his jeans in a silent plea for attention.

Dammit, how was he supposed to win this war if he kept thinking of fucking his adversary into the nearest piece of solid furniture every other minute? Or the other way around, for that matter…? The thought of having Cas inside him, moving with him… 

Another one of those strangled noises pushed past his lips, and suddenly his hands were tearing at the buttons of his jeans, pulling the fabric apart and down. Gripping around hot, rigid flesh, he pushed his head into the pillows by his side, muffling a desperate whimper.

Cas inside him… Would it be good? Would he like it? Would it be overwhelming just like the internet had said?

He gritted his teeth, and tightened his fingers around his dick, moving faster. The arousal was a burning fire inside his gut, having finally been granted recognition, and he reached down to cup the weight of his balls in the palm of his other hand.

Jesus, this was so fucked up, why was this even turning him on? He should be disgusted; the thought had brought ice to his chest mere hours ago, but he couldn’t help it, dear God in Heaven, he couldn’t help it!

Cas always made him lose control, this right here being perfect proof of just that, but at the same time, he felt as if he had never been this okay with losing something in his entire life. Cas was right about it all, of course; the outside world didn’t matter, this was about him and Cas, him and his angel, yes,  _ his angel _ … Cas… His Cas… 

Slowly, Dean moved the hand around his balls, inching it further down, and then the tip of his middle finger smoothed against the centre of his scrotum, catching on the furled skin around  _ that _ part of him. The touch startled a hiss out of his lungs, the breath wrenching out of him in a violent shudder because it felt— Jesus, it felt  _ amazing _ .

Kicking his jeans down to pool around his ankles, he spread his legs wider, giving him a better reach. His heart jolted when his finger returned to rub shallow circles around his entrance, slotting up against the very centre of him. 

Cas had done this. With his grace, his mind… He had touched Dean right here, and yeah, he recognized it now, the tingle, the fire inside him roaring higher and searing the doubt right out of his head. And this was just outside… He was still outside, sweet mother of God, what would it feel like, the real thing…?

He increased the pressure of his finger, pushing in deeper, though still without really entering. He gasped as the movement sent a ripple of unfamiliar pleasure through his limbs, and then he winced, eyes screwing shut when he felt his dick tense inside the tight circle of his hand, because oh, just the thought of it. Cas inside him, Cas fucking into him, slow and dirty, just like the pictures… Fucking him just like in the pictures…

“Cas…” he breathed, not even a sound as much as a sharp exhale of air, “Cas…!” 

He wanted to say ‘harder’, he wanted to say ‘faster’, but he couldn’t. His breath locked up inside his chest, and he barely had the sense of awareness to pull his fingers away from his ass to fold them over the tip of his cock instead. His muscles tightened and his toes curled inside his boots as he shot into the palm of his hand, the white result of two days of sexual restraint dribbling down to land on the little stripe of exposed skin just below the edge of his shirt. 

The thought of what he had done hit his mind like an eighteen-wheeler truck before he even had the chance to come down properly. The erratic pounding of his heartbeat pulsed through him, his entire body stuttering as the panic fluttered into his chest and made him gasp for breath. A rush of anxiety coursed through his veins, threatening to render him a gaping heap of shivering limbs on the bed. Then, just as fast, it faded. Once again, that serene calmness from his first time with Cas lowered itself over him like a blanket, suffocating the flames of panic licking into his skull. He exhaled, feeling as if he was breathing out a thousand years of tension into the air above his head.

Okay… So that had been… new, he concluded, almost detached from himself. New and strange… but not… bad. 

In fact, to be honest… To be really,  _ really _ honest, it had actually felt… pretty damn good.

He slumped back into the beddings to stare up at the ceiling with a bewildered look in his eyes as the silent confession took hold and rooted itself inside his brain. It made his body go limp and pliant amongst the sheets, shackles he had not even been aware of snapping open and making him feel lighter, almost weightless inside his own skin. Jesus, he still couldn’t believe he had just done that to himself...!

“Son of a bitch…” he whispered. His voice bounced, hoarse and raw against the walls of the room, and then he let out a choked chuckle. It punched its way out of his chest and caused the corners of his mouth to twitch. His heart began to race, and he couldn’t have cared less about the mess that trickled down the edge of his hip and down onto the mattress below when he rolled over to bury his head amongst the pillows, grinning like an complete idiot as peals of helpless laughter spilled over his lips.

_ Son of a bitch…! _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading, sweeties <3  
> (See, I didn't leave our babies suffering for long.)
> 
> I hope you guys enjoyed the read, and next chapter will be up next week, as planned ^^  
> Until Thursday! <3


	17. 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this chapter is a bit late, I had to make some emergency shopping yesterday since I discovered that I was in dire need of a new winter jacket XD It's frickin freezing up here!

They say luck comes to those who earn it; something Dean had never really bothered to believe in much. However, as fate would have it, Lady Luck seemed to have saved something special just for him, and today was frickin’  _ payday _ – even if Dean had to admit to himself later that he hadn’t exactly realized that right away…

He had emerged from his and Cas’s sleeping quarters after his little Internet Exploration feeling a million different kinds of confused all at the same time. He hadn’t felt… bad, though. 

More like a person who had spent their entire life being terrified of water, only to finally dip their head under the surface and come to the conclusion that not only did water not hurt you – it was actually quite pleasant.

Castiel had not made any enquiries on how his ‘research’ had gone, and Dean didn’t say anything either. They had left the bond partially closed, allowing the link to let through only small vibrations of emotions at a time. Yet, unlike before, this mutual silence was not strained or involuntary – only domestic and casual in a way that made Dean feel as if he had been wrapped up in a thick blanket in front of a crackling fire after a cold winter’s day outdoors. Not that he would admit that to anyone, of course.

The pies were out and cooling on the sink when Dean stepped into the kitchen. He barely had the time to sneak himself more than a crumb’s worth, before Castiel ushered him out with a firm hand on his shoulder, seemingly interested in nothing more than saving his beloved pastries from further molestations. Still, Dean did not miss the warm tingle that skated along his skin the moment the angel’s fingers splayed over the fabric of his shirt, and it was obvious that Dean’s previous little comment about the war still being up and running had not gone by unnoticed. He pretended not to feel it, though, and if Castiel’s mind gave off a low puff of disappointment at that, then who was Dean to act as if that wasn’t the most hilarious thing to happen yet today?

As of now, they were all holed up inside the living room, waiting for the dinner Castiel had prepared to finish baking inside the oven. Even though Dean could barely wait to sink his teeth into Castiel’s cooking, he was still a bit anxious about taking his place by the table when Cas was still on the sexual warpath. One forced orgasm in front of your family was quite enough for one day, thank you very much.

Bobby was out back, working as usual. Sam had been sitting with his laptop (and  _ very  _ recently deleted browser history) in his, as the name suggested, lap, basically all afternoon, catching up on stuff he missed during his month in kindergarten. Dean was lounging in the chair by the old writing-desk on the other side of the room, watching the TV out of the corner of his eye while pretending to read a boring book on pagan gods and rituals. Meanwhile, Castiel paged through the channels of the TV, continuously pressing the buttons of the remote until he eventually settled on what appeared to be a natural geographic documentary about animals in central Africa. 

The funny thing was, ever since Cas fixed the TV, they had suddenly gained access to an entire plethora of channels that they had previously never even heard of. When asked how the hell that happened, Castiel had simply replied with a shrug and a low comment of “it’s all waves.” 

Dean suspected that the tweaking of the channels were the angel’s way of apologizing to Bobby for blowing his TV up in the first place, and he had let the subject go, not wanting to embarrass the angel further. Abandoning the book in his hands, along with the Gaelic spell that had slowly been pushing him closer and closer to the brink of a furious headache, Dean sent the screen on the other side of the room a disinterested glance. Then he did a wide-eyed double take, abruptly straightening up in his seat.

“Hey, I’ve seen that one before.” 

Sam looked up from his laptop, glancing around the room in search of what his brother was talking about. Following Dean’s gaze to the TV, he looked at the screen, where a tiny, iridescent bird was busying itself with picking out seeds from a fruit the size of a bowling ball.

“Seen what one?” he asked. “The bird?” 

“Yeah, that’s a… uhh…“ Dean snapped his fingers rapidly, searching for the name, “A green headed something-something… Tanager! A green headed tanager, that’s it.”

“Okay…” Sam said slowly, clearly confused over his brother’s suddenly-sprouted ornithology skills. “And you know this  _ how _ , exactly?”

“Very funny,” Dean answered testily. “Cas showed it to me, smarty-pants.”

“He showed you a bird from Brazil?” Sam’s eyebrows shot up, “Why?”

“Because he was… trying to describe the color of his wings.” Dean explained, reminding himself at the last minute that perhaps Sam didn’t need to know any details about the whole molting vs. angel mating thing. “Apparently it changes sometimes,” he ended instead. Even though the sentence came out a bit twitchy, Sam didn’t seem to take any notice of it. 

“Oh,” Sam looked back at the TV and then glanced over at Castiel. “Your wings are  _ green _ ?” he asked, barely able to cover up the doubtful tone threading through the words.

“Their corporeal state used to have hues of green, amongst other colors,” Cas confirmed calmly, studying the bird on the TV with a close to endearing expression. “But that was before Dean became my mate. They look a lot less adolescent now.”

“Adolescent how?” Sam asked, his inner geek slowly emerging from its shell as his eyes flickered to the empty space above Castiel’s shoulders, as if he by looking fast enough could catch a glimpse of whatever celestial dimension the angel’s wings were hiding in.

“I mean, what do they look like now?” he clarified. Castiel’s eyes slowly moved away from the screen, giving the young Winchester an evaluating look before turning back to the TV once more.

“It’s hard to explain,” he answered shortly, and Sam deflated like a popped balloon in his seat.

“Oh, I thought—” his eyes flickered back to Dean, who put his book down entirely and leaned forward with his elbows resting on his knees to study his little brother intently.

“You thought what?” he asked and Sam, the full grown giant of a man that he was, actually started blushing. 

“Nothing,” he said, squirming, “I just— I mean I was kind of hoping that he’d be able to…. you know, show me?”

He threw a guilty look at Castiel, as if even voicing his interest on the subject was something rude and indecent. Castiel looked back, eyebrows knotting slowly before rising once more, the process of his thoughts seemingly pulling him in two different directions. 

“That is a possibility,” he admitted slowly, “However, I’m not sure if—“

“C’mon, Cas, let him have a peek,” Dean prompted from his spot in the corner. “Poor guy’s feeling left out.” 

“No, it’s okay,” Sam objected, “I don’t need to see, I was just thinking—”

“Nah, everyone else got a look,” Dean protested, and really, he understood how his brother must be feeling. Both Dean and Bobby had seen Castiel’s wings, and Sam, being the inquisitive nerd that he was, had been bereft of the opportunity. His baby memories were fading with every passing day, and Dean was pretty certain that the guy wouldn’t be able to remember a single thing about the whole ordeal in less than a week’s time.

Also, even after all the commotion they’d gone through, with Hell and Heaven and the angels, Sam was still the religious one in the family. Living with the knowledge that Cas had wings that he would never get to see, even though everyone else had, must be like torture to him.

“Cas can show them to you, right, Cas?” Dean motioned to the angel on the couch. Cas, on the other hand, didn’t look particularly happy about the idea, something that became even clearer when he studiously stood up from his seat, walking past the TV with a hard look at the human before him.

“Dean, can I have a word with you?” he asked politely. The question echoed tightly through the suddenly wide-open bond, and Dean swallowed hard. 

“Sure,” he said, standing up from his chair with a reassuring smile towards Sam before following the angel out into the hallway.

_ I’m not entirely comfortable showing off my wings to anyone who happens to ask, Dean, _ Castiel grumbled. The metallic tang of anxiety that coated his thoughts as they travelled through Dean’s head was almost solid enough to see.

_ Why not?  _ Dean asked, taken aback by the other’s sudden reluctance.  _ You let Bobby see them. _

_ I didn’t exactly have much of a choice at the time.  _ Castiel muttered. _ An angel’s wings are a very intimate matter, you know this already. _

_ Yeah, like walking around in your underwear, _ Dean recited. _ I remember. _

_ Then you do realize what you are asking of me? _

_ C’mon Cas,  _ Dean pleaded.  _ Sammy doesn’t speak Angel. He’s smart, sure, but unless there are books on feather etiquette lying around here somewhere, he won’t think twice about it unless you give him a reason to. You know it would mean a lot to him. Two minutes tops, I swear. _

Castiel licked his lips as he sent the taller man in the living room a quick glance over his shoulder. Dean saw Sam flinch, obviously having been caught looking at them, and when Cas turned back, Dean met the angel’s eyes with a pleading look. Putting every puppy-eye lesson he had ever gotten from Sam to use in a single, smouldering gaze, he really tried his best not to look too victorious when he felt the angel’s resolve falter and eventually crumble before him.

“Alright,” Cas muttered. “But only two minutes.” 

“Two minutes,” Dean agreed, “Not a second longer. Thanks, babe.” 

Cas’ mind pulsed out a wave of surprise at the sudden use of the new pet name. But when Dean just leaned in and gave the corner of his mouth a quick kiss in response, the surprise quickly morphed into a sensation of abashed approval that made Dean feel like he had just been hit square in the chest by a big, fluffy comet.

When they re-entered the living room, Sam was hiding a smile behind his hand. Dean didn’t care about the fact that his brother had witnessed his little display of affection, because Sam was about to get his socks knocked off in just a few seconds anyway. Sure enough, when Cas took place on the floor in the middle of the room, the smile quickly disappeared off the younger Winchester’s face as he stood up as well, licking his lips nervously. 

Dean leaned against the bookcase on the opposite wall, trying his best not to grin when he felt Castiel’s grace gather and focus on the other side of the link. However, instead of the slow, growing process Dean had witnessed at the motel all those nights ago, the effort now produced a faint shimmer in the air. Slowly, a shadow appeared above his shoulders, growing increasingly more solid until a dark pair of full-fledged wings was spread out on either side of the suddenly very  _ real _ angel standing in front of them. 

Castiel let out a soft sigh, and the tension of the bond inside Dean’s head let up, announcing the end of the transformation as Cas then proceeded to flex the limbs carefully, one by one, being careful not to knock anything over. Dean noted with a painful twinge to his chest that the familiar, oily shimmer he had grown accustomed to over the past month was gone. He quickly decided, however, that it wasn’t such a bad thing when he took a closer look at the new plumage that had taken its place.  

Castiel’s new wings were midnight black and they shone like sleek, dark metal in the electric light from the TV. When he stretched his left wing to the side – the tip of it reaching all the way through the door to the kitchen – Dean noticed that on the inside of the wings, weaved amongst the tiny little feathers below the arch and spreading all the way down to the primary feathers, there was a pattern of white spots dotted over the quills, like stars glimmering in the night sky. The sudden urge to reach out and trail his fingers over them was so strong Dean had to fist his hands inside his pockets.

The wings rose high above all their heads, just like Dean remembered. He also noted with fascination that the primary feathers now had a dark, navy blue rim, as if each feather had been delicately airbrushed in a gradient shift from blue to black, the royal hue shimmering like liquid metal whenever the wings moved.

He quickly realized what exactly Castiel had meant when he used the words “less adolescent”, because these was very obviously wings that belonged to an adult angel. Solid and firm in their very essence in a way that the angel’s old wings hadn’t even come close to.

Dean glanced to the side and saw with proud satisfaction that Sam was openly staring, his mouth hanging open and gaping as he took in the sight before him.

“Wow…” he breathed, stunned. “Cas this is— They’re amazing.” He reached out, completely mesmerized, but then he seemed to catch himself and stilled with his hand still stretched out in hesitation. “Would it be okay if I…?” He trailed off, and Cas sent Dean a long glance from the corner of his eye before nodding slowly. 

Dean knew that touching an angel’s wings was a rare honor, even amongst other angels. Even though he would never dream of denying his brother such a precious gift, he could still feel a light sting of jealousy when Sam’s palm made contact with the dark feathers, because those were Cas’  _ new _ feathers. They were the ones that literally screamed out ‘taken’ and ‘off limits’ to the entire universe – those were  _ Dean’s _ wings, and the possessive pride he felt at that was close to unsettling.

_ What does it feel like when he touches them? _ he demanded through the link, and Castiel’s brow furrowed at the sharp edge of his tone.

_ What would it feel like if he were to touch your arm? _ the angel replied, and Dean swallowed, jaw clenching. 

_ You don’t get the… you know… ‘tingles’, like you did with me, then? _ he muttered, trying his best not to make it sound as if he was sulking.

_ It doesn’t work like that,  _ Cas assured him. _ Sam is not my mate. His touch will do nothing to me. _

_ But mine would? _

_ Of course. _

Dean looked down at the carpet by his feet, seemingly taking a few seconds to mull the thought over.

_ So if I were to touch you right now, what would happen? _

Castiel scowled, obviously not understanding what the human was getting at, and Dean straightened up as the idea continued to unravel at the back of his mind.

_ Would it excite you? _ he continued slyly, taking his hand out from the pocket of his jacket and turning it palm-out towards the angel with a mischievous smirk.  _ Would you like that? _

Castiel’s eyes widened, and a spark of realization lit up the bond a split second before Dean curved his fingers into a ball, sending the touch of fisting a handful of feathers through the link. The angel instantly tensed, and the wings beneath Sam’s hands flared out to the sides with every single feather standing in attention, sending the younger Winchester staggering backwards in shock.

“Shit…! Cas, you okay? Did I hurt you? I’m so sorry.”

“I’m fine, Sam,” Cas rasped, straightening up and bringing the wings in to carefully fold them behind his back with a warning glare in Dean’s direction. “You didn’t hurt me, but please be careful. The wings are always a bit sore after manifestation.”

“Oh, right,” Sam said, accepting the explanation without question. When he reached back out, his hand was almost trembling, making very sure not to put too much pressure on the plumage beneath it.

_ Nice save _ , Dean commented dryly. Cas glowered at him.

_ Stop it. _

_ C’mon, Cas, you like this. I can feel it… Besides, I’ve barely touched you yet.  _

_ Dean, I’m warning you—  _

_ You’re  _ warning _ me? You, who are so ‘in control’ of your facial expressions? _ Dean mocked.  _ You shouldn’t be the slightest bit worried about this. In fact, I bet it would take me  _ forever  _ to break you. _

_ Dean…! _

_ Let’s see how much of this your angelic tolerance can handle, huh? _

Dean curled his fingers again, making sure that Castiel got to see him do it. Cas closed his eyes, taking a deep, slow breath through his nose, his jaw clenching when Dean began to stroke down the feathers one by one, petting them slowly and massaging the tendons beneath the arches before raking through the delicate downs on the inside of the wings. 

The feathers that had been lying down smooth and sleek when he started were soon perking up, slowly ruffling from top to bottom with every passing second. Dean was having all the trouble in the world with not breaking out into a huge grin when he saw his brother look at them, completely fascinated.

“They’re magnificent,” Sam complimented, apparently under the impression that Cas was ruffling his wings to show them off. “I didn’t expect them to be so… flexible.”

“Yeah, they really are a piece of work,” Dean commented from the bookshelf. “And they sound really cool too,” he added.

“Really?” Sam looked at him from over the crest of a wildly puffed up wing. Dean raked his fingers through the feathers one more time, adding a bit of a suckle with his lips on the angel’s neck. The dark wings immediately let out a violent shudder, filling the room with the sound of rustling feathers.

“Wow,” Sam said with a huge smile, and Dean nodded, turning back to look at Castiel, who still had his eyes squeezed shut.

_ Does it feel good, Cas?  _ he teased.  _ Brings back memories, doesn’t it? You remember that time in the kitchen? When I had you pushed up against the sink with your dick riding my thigh. You were so hot, Cas, I couldn’t keep my hands off of you... Did you like it when we did that?   _

Another rustle travelled through the air, and Sam craned his neck to look up at the top of the alula, studying the feathers there intently.

_ Dean,  _ please…! Cas hissed, but Dean was not even close to done. He had been waiting for an opportunity like this for days, and he wasn’t planning to let the angel slip away that easily.

_ Would you have liked to do that to me? _ he whispered instead, and Castiel’s eyes snapped open, staring at him in startled disbelief.

_ Yeah, you heard me,  _ Dean continued, smirking.  _ I bet you would have loved to shove me up against a counter like that. You’ve always liked me with my back to the wall, trapped against you. _

Castiel shut his eyes once more as his hands fisted by his sides.

_ Would you have liked to fuck me against that counter, Cas?  _ Dean pushed on, and whilst the angel’s wings gave a barely-there twitch at the question, the bond in its turn seemed to literally explode with hot, white arousal inside Dean’s head.

_ Yeah, it wouldn’t even matter where we were, would it?  _ Dean growled.  _ You’d have me up against this bookshelf right now if you could. Spreading me out and opening me up... What if I told you I’d let you do that, huh? What if I told you, you could have me right here, right now? I’d let you fuck me so good, Cas, I’d let you blow my goddamn brains out. Let you know how it feels to have your dick inside me, filling me up so good…   _

Another vicious shudder rippled through the feathers of Cas’ wings, and this time, Sam sent Dean a quizzical look, to which Dean responded with a shrug.

“Cas, are you sure you’re doing alright?” Sam asked, leaning forward to catch a glimpse of the angel’s face.

_ Would you like to fuck me, Cas? _

“Yes…!” Castiel rasped, fighting to keep his voice steady, “Yes I— I’m fine, Sam…”

“Are you sure? You seem a bit—”

_ I want you inside me, angel boy. I want you pounding into me, spreading me out on the mattress, so eager for you, babe. You want to know what that feels like, don’t you? Pretty, virgin angel like you. _

“—out of it?” Sam ended, reaching out to place a worried hand on the angel’s shoulder. As his hand made contact with the white fabric of the other male’s shirt, Dean sent the most pornographic display he could imagine of himself through the bond. Him, straddling the angel, riding him while digging his fingers into black and blue feathers with his head tossed back in pure ecstasy. 

Half a breath later, he found himself staggering backwards with a set of hands firmly curled into the front of his shirt, knocking him into the bookshelf so hard it sent several of the items in it tumbling to the floor.

Castiel was pressing him up against the wooden surface, shelves digging hard into the plane of Dean’s back. His face hovered a mere inch away from Dean’s own, and his breath fanned hot over Dean’s lips as the angel growled out something Dean didn’t quite catch against his mouth. The wings behind his back spread out wide, quivering ominously while the bond literally boiled with the angel’s barely controlled restraint.

“You’re playing with fire, Dean Winchester,” Castiel hissed, and the sound of his name dripping off the angel’s tongue like that made Dean’s entire body tremble. “You should know by now not to talk so big, unless you’re willing to face the consequences…”

Dean expected Cas to kiss him next, and fuck, he wouldn’t have minded it, even with his brother present and watching, but instead, Castiel just stepped back, letting him go. That’s when Dean discovered that except for the angel and himself, the room was now empty.

“What the—?” He swirled around, looking around the room as if he expected his brother to pop out from behind him at any second. “Where did he go?”

“ _ He _ did not go anywhere,” Castiel gruffed.

“What?”

“I transported  _ us _ ,” the angel clarified. “More specifically, I halted us within the void between moments. Sam is still here, frozen in time and unable to perceive us, as we are him.”

“That’s one hell of a party trick,” Dean acknowledged with a nervous laugh. Castiel looked at him, and the predatory look in his eyes settled like a fiery weight across Dean’s chest.

“Indeed,” he growled. Then, Dean’s shoulders hit the bookshelf once more when the angel stepped back into his personal space, a strong hand coming up to grasp around his chin. Wings rustled as Cas pressed a greedy kiss to Dean’s lips before pulling away to brush his mouth against the shell of his ear.

“I have unfinished business with you…”

The low rumble of the angel’s voice sent goosebumps prickling all over Dean’s skin in a fierce rush that could have been caused by heat or cold alike. Then the floor beneath his feet shook violently, just as he felt himself being pushed back for the second time. 

This time, however, there was no longer a bookshelf behind him to break his fall. He tumbled backwards, for a few seconds seemingly levitating in thin air, grappling in panic for something to hold on to, before gravity inevitably got the upper hand, and he felt himself land with a gasp on top of something that felt suspiciously like a mattress.

He barely had the time to register that he was lying flat on his back on the big bed in their own bedroom, before Cas was on top of him. Pushing him down with his hands in a tight grip around Dean’s arms, he pinned the limbs next to Dean’s head, and his wings fanned out above them both as Castiel’s mouth latched onto Dean’s with a low snarl that made lighting go off behind Dean’s eyelids.

He never even stood a chance. Castiel was kissing him with the force of a thousand hurricanes, the fingers wrapping around Dean’s wrist flexing and tightening, and Dean was not even trying to fight back at this point.  He just pressed in closer, moaning loud and shamelessly when he felt the angel grind down against him in return. 

Everything was rough and needy, each movement laced with a desperation that Dean had not even been aware existed until now. Castiel’s breath was hot on his skin, and the messy slip and slide of their tongues and lips fuelled the fire in his gut until he found himself bucking up in search of some kind of friction for the now very evident hard-on inside his jeans.

He had now idea how they did it, but somehow they managed to maneuvre themselves higher onto the bed, and Dean’s head almost hit the headboard when the angel above him dove down for another kiss. Somewhere along the line, Cas had let go of his hands, leaving Dean free to roam his fingers over every inch of the angel that he could reach. 

Castiel moaned into his mouth when Dean found the edge of a dark feather, tugging at it to bring the wing closer, and Castiel obliged, trailing the shiny quills down the side of Dean’s body with a dry whisper. Dean combed his hands eagerly through the plumes, pinching and rolling the feathers between his fingers to elicit intoxicating sounds of pleasure from the angel’s mouth. 

For some reason, be it his imagination or something else, Castiel’s wings almost felt different than before. As if they had been measured to fit perfectly into the palm of Dean’s hands, like giant pieces of an enormous puzzle. It was a good feeling – a  _ right  _ feeling – and Dean sent his approval through the bond along with a hot pulse of excitement.

Neither of them were paying attention to how it happened, but after a while, the pace of their kisses slowed down; easing from borderline violent to intense, further down to passionate, and then all the way to tender. Dean’s hands came to a halt, resting lightly against the outer curve of the dark wings, and he sighed when Castiel leaned further down to lick into his mouth in languid, lazy swipes. 

The mattress beneath them shifted when Cas moved, and Dean felt a warm hand splay across the plane of his stomach, pushing at his t-shirt until it was bunched up high beneath his armpits. Then Castiel’s mouth abruptly left his, only to reappear a split second later next to his bellybutton, suckling a tender mark to the skin there.

“You…” he growled, voice coarse and charred like smoked whiskey, “… are the most infuriating… conceited…  _ impossible _ human… I have ever come to know…” 

Dean shuddered when Castiel mouthed the words against his skin, only interrupting himself to kiss a slow, messy trail up the side of Dean’s ribs while his hands kept a firm grip around the human’s hips as he did so.

“I have the ability to wipe you off the face of the earth in less than a heartbeat,” Cas continued, skipping over the last few ribs to grace his teeth over a hard nipple. “I could obliterate you as easily as I could say your name… and yet you never look upon me with fear in your eyes.” He glanced up, meeting Dean’s gaze. “Only excitement. Eagerness.”

The pert nub between the angel’s lips received a teasing pull and Dean groaned. Castiel’s grace was slotting up against his soul in an attempted mime of their bodies, filling his head with the buzz of the arousal coursing through the angel’s mind; feeding it through the link in a never-ending display of just how close to the edge Dean had brought him.

“You challenge me,” Castiel continued darkly, “ _ daring _ me. As if you enjoy pushing me to my limits.”

The grip around Dean’s hips tightened. 

“Do you know what happens when an angel reaches its limits, Dean?” he asked, but he didn’t wait for Dean to answer before he leaned up to latch onto the human’s neck with his lips. “Humans like you get in trouble,” he growled. “Exceptionally…  _ big _ …. trouble…”

“Would that trouble be anything like the sort I’m in right now?” Dean chuckled breathlessly. “‘Cause I sort of like this kind...”

“So I’ve noticed,” Cas purred. The hand on Dean’s left hip slid down to rub over the bulge in his jeans. “And it is strange that I would find myself enjoying it as well, in spite of your careless, sadistic methods.”

“You’re saying you liked getting your freak on in front of my brother?” Dean asked teasingly, pulling at his lower lip with his teeth to stifle a moan when Castiel’s hand pressed down a bit harder in reciprocation.

“I liked the fact that even though I found the situation highly inappropriate, your natural skill of persistent  _ nagging _ never ceases to amaze me,” the angel corrected. “Truth to be told, you are very… convincing.” 

“Yeah… Sex will do that to a guy…” Dean hummed contently as he arched into the angel’s touch, searching for more contact, wanting to  _ feel _ Castiel’s hands on him.

“Speaking of,” Castiel mumbled, slowly kissing his way down Dean’s stomach once more. “You brought up some rather convincing arguments back there.” Dean shuddered when he heard the zipper of his jeans come undone. “Did you mean them?”

Dean snapped his eyes open, looking down at the angel hovering over his partially undone jeans, suddenly feeling like a stone was sitting heavy in his gut when he sensed the anticipation radiating through the link in his head. Castiel was regarding him silently, patiently waiting for an answer.

“Oh… I, uh…” Dean licked his lips, swallowing hard. “I was… I mean, I—” He let out a shaky breath when Castiel’s mind curled around his hesitation, silencing it as the angel tugged at his trousers. Dean obediently raised his hips up, allowing the other man to pull his jeans and boxers down to his knees.

He meant it. Of course he did. Saying those things out there in the living room, telling Cas all the things he would be willing to let the angel do to him; he had meant every syllable. But in  _ here _ , this close, with nowhere to run… He still meant it, but the thought was suddenly a lot more frightening than before, because let’s get real – there was a whole world of differences between  _ talking _ about riding the biggest, baddest roller coaster in the fair and actually climbing into the goddamn wagon.

“Cas, I—” he tried again, but for the second time the soft pressure of Cas’ mind made him lose track of what he was going to say. 

“Don’t speak,” Castiel whispered, pressing another, slow kiss against the ridge of his hipbone. “Just let me take care of you.”

Dean was not sure of how he was meant to interpret that, but he quickly decided that it would probably be better for him to not even attempt it either way. Castiel’s grace continued to move in that same, slow slide along the edges of his soul, soothing and calming him, and Dean leaned into the sensation, reciprocating the touch to the best of his ability.

_ One word… _ the angel whispered inside his head.  _ One word and I’ll stop, whenever you want. _

Blue eyes came up to look at him, and Dean felt the knot inside his chest loosen slightly. He nodded, allowing his head to fall back against the pillow with a shaky sigh, staring up at the ceiling. He felt Castiel mouth his way down the jut of his pelvis, lapping and suckling at the skin there until he finally closed his lips around Dean’s erection, hollowing his cheeks with a low hum that made Dean sigh and melt straight into the sheets.

Castiel made sure to take his time, nipping and licking carefully, dragging every gasp and tremble he could out of the man beneath him. Dean soon found himself fisting the sheets by his sides, while pushing the side of his face into the pillow beneath his head. His mouth had fallen open, and he was breathing hard into the fabric with his eyes screwed shut as he continued to receive licks and kisses to the head of his cock, each shallow swipe and drag of lips making his mind soar. 

He could hear Castiel’s grace whisper inside his head. Silent, wordless insights of the angel’s thoughts and feelings; every breathed out confession of adoration, every inch of celestial worship slotting up and pressing in against him with an uncovered honesty that made Dean’s ears heat up and caused his cheeks to flush. 

He could see images of himself inside the angel’s head, doing absolutely ordinary things like pouring himself coffee or sleeping on the couch, but for some reason those were the memories the angel had decided to latch onto. The way he smiled, moved, spoke – every single quality of himself that Dean had never even considered anyone would find attractive or important. Those were the things that now flowed through their psychic connection, accompanied with so many feelings and thoughts they left Dean’s brain overwhelmed and too embarrassed to even register them all. 

Castiel’s affection for him was lighting up his mind like fireworks, and dammit he  _ didn’t deserve this kind of attention _ , he wasn’t  _ worthy _ of receiving such love from anyone, much less an  _ angel. _ He couldn’t take it, it was too much, and he quickly reached down, pawing his left hand against the hair at the top of the angel’s head for attention.

_ Cas,  _ he pleaded,  _ I’m sorry man, but I can’t— I can’t have you in my head while we do this. _

The angel hummed, letting Dean know that he heard him as he moved his hands down to massage the top of the man’s thighs, and the bond immediately narrowed down, cutting the flow off. It made things easier, but even though the images stopped, Dean could still feel the warmth of the angel’s adoration pulse against his soul. He gritted his teeth, fisting the sheets even tighter.

“Cas, please…” he groaned, “I really can’t.”

There was a quick flicker of uncertainty and surprise through the bond when Dean began to pull away, attempting to close the bond completely before the angel caught up to the shame building in his head. Even though it was clear that the angel did not like the thought of Dean separating his mind from his, the link fell silent as Castiel let it go without argument. 

As his head went quiet, Dean let out a deep, relieved sigh, relaxing into the beddings beneath him. Then his back arched off the mattress when Castiel decided to compensate for the silence by sliding Dean’s dick further down his throat. 

A startled groan ripped itself out of Dean’s throat as he remembered the way the angel had almost rendered him a blabbering pile of mush just the other day, doing exactly that. He sat up, leaning back on his elbows to stare down at the spot where Castiel’s lips continued to move over him in wicked slow slides, feeling a furious sweat break out all over his body when he caught the glimpse of a pink tongue darting out in between the suckles. 

“Where the hell did you learn to do that?” he panted, swallowing down a whimper when Castiel chuckled around the flesh in his mouth before pulling off with a wet slurp.

“I spent two weeks inside your head, remember?” the angel pointed out as he replaced his mouth with the palm of his hand, making Dean’s body twitch when he started jerking him off slowly. “I saw every fantasy you ever had about me. All the things you wanted me to do to you… Of what you wanted to do to me.”

Dean bucked into the tight circle of Cas’ hand, letting himself slump down onto his back with a moan.

“I know all your secrets,” Cas murmured. He scooted down to settle his weight comfortably between Dean’s knees along with a whispered approval of his wings. “I’ve heard you beg for me thousands and thousands of times. I can identify your deepest wants and desires going only by the slightest shift of the tone in your voice.” He lowered his face down, brushing his lips teasingly over the crown of the cock in his hands. “Let me give you what you want, beloved...” he whispered. “All you have to do is say yes… or no, if you will. It’s your choice.”

Dean didn’t dare look down, could not bring himself to meet the gaze of the angel kneeling before him. His heart was beating viciously inside his chest, and he knew what Castiel was asking, of course he knew. It was terrifying and embarrassing as hell, but at the same time—

Fuck, the thought was exciting, he couldn’t deny it. The curiosity was blazing, hot and burning inside his chest, but it was also the most undignified thing he had ever pictured himself doing in his life. Allowing someone to shove something up his ass was just something— Jesus, it was something you just weren’t supposed to  _ do! _ Then again… he was pretty sure that angels didn’t usually let humans do that to them either, yet Cas had done so without a single complaint. 

For fuck’s sake, it wasn’t as if the two of them were exactly considered vanilla to begin with here. Castiel obviously had a thing for the whole leather and handcuffs gig, and Dean… well, Dean apparently liked to have fingers playing with his ass while he jerked off, and there you had it, it couldn’t be any clearer, really.

He  _ wanted _ this, and remembering the feeling of it, just that teasing brush of skin against the outside of him, made him swallow hard. No one else ever needed to know about it. This was  _ them _ , this was  _ Cas _ .  _ Cas, _ who was willing to give up Heaven for his sake!

And it wasn’t as if any of the other things they had decided to try so far had turned out to be uncomfortable either. Even if he changed his mind, Ca  had already told him he’d stop whenever Dean asked, so… So…  

“Yes,” he breathed, feeling the tightness in his chest spread up to the back of his throat, leaving his voice strained and brittle. “God, help me, but yes…”

Castiel looked up at him then, as if to make sure that Dean was actually realizing what he was saying. Then, a tiny pull at the corner of the angel’s lip made Dean’s skin prickle as Cas leaned down to place another one of those fluttering kisses against his hipbone.

“There is no need to call upon God, beloved,” he assured him soflty. “I am fully capable of doing this myself.”

Dean held his breath. He expected there to be a tongue or hand on his dick next, but instead, he was left to watch Castiel move further down the bed. He looked on as Cas slid his fingers down the length of Dean’s legs, caressing the coarse hairs there while pulling Dean’s jeans and boxers all the way down and off. Castiel then proceeded to undo the tie from around his own neck before letting it join the growing pile of clothes at the foot of the bed, the white dress shirt following soon after. 

Dammit, Dean would never get used to seeing the angel like this. Wings spread out, strong and rippling black. His bare chest rising and falling in slow, steady intakes of breath… He was so beautiful, the sight of him made Dean’s very insides quiver.

Wearing only his dark slacks, Castiel sent a pointed glance at the haphazard t-shirt still bunched below Dean’s armpits, and Dean obediently sat up further, dragging it over his head and tossing it aside. Then he leaned back against the headboard while trying his best not to let the nervous pounding of his pulse show in the light tremors of his limbs when Castiel’s hands settled gently on top of his feet, pulling his socks off.

Castiel let his hands slide over the skin of Dean’s naked feet, fingers caressing the curves of each foot with a near revering tenderness. Dean bit down on his lower lip when Cas began massaging his soles with slow swipes of his thumbs, watching the human’s flesh move beneath his fingertips in close to childish fascination. 

“Cas, that’s—” Dean cleared his throat, chasing away the squeak that threatened to overtake it. “That’s a bit weird, you know… With the whole feet thing.”

Castiel looked up at him, a confused frown settling on his face.

“Is it considered weird to pay equal attention to each part of your lover’s body?” he asked slowly, as if challenging Dean to tell him that this was indeed so.

“That’s not what I meant, dude.” Dean swallowed. “It’s just… I mean, they’re  _ feet…!  _ You’re not supposed to look at them like— like  _ that _ .”

“They’re a part of you,” Castiel countered simply. Dean’s eyes fluttered shut when the angel pressed down on a particularly good spot just below his big toe and okay, maybe Cas’s fascination with his feet wasn’t so bad if it got him this kind of treatme—

His entire body suddenly jack-knifed off the bed, yanking at his foot in a violent attempt to escape the angel’s hands and the large, velvety feathers currently trailing in between the space of his toes.

“No!” he yelped, “Dude,  _ not _ like that!”

Castiel tilted his head, as if asking what he was doing wrong, and Dean shuddered, tugging desperately at his leg.

“It  _ tickles! _ ” he gasped, “Just—! F—Fuck, get your feathers  _ away _ from there!”

Cas frowned, not hiding the fact that he thought the human was clearly overreacting, but he pulled his wings back nonetheless. Instead, he leaned forward and started kissing his way up Dean’s right leg, spreading small love bites and nibbles of teeth along the way. Dean stilled, feeling his breath hitch when Cas raised the leg up with guiding pressure, suckling and lapping at the sensitive skin at the back of the knee. Groaning, Dean fell back against the pillow, sucking in a sharp breath through his teeth.

“Does this tickle as well?” Cas mouthed quietly.

“N—No… It’s— It’s good…” Dean breathed, letting out a low moan when the angel continued down the back of his thigh, stubble rasping against the skin there. His appreciative sounds were quickly replaced by a startled yelp, however, when Cas without warning, or seemingly any effort, wrapped both his arms around the human’s abs and  _ tugged _ , hoisting him into the air in a single, fluent motion. 

Dean threw his arms out to the side, struggling to settle his thighs on top of the angel’s shoulders for leverage. He choked down another indignant squawk when he felt Castiel’s tongue move over the weight of his testicles, licking his balls with slow, long swipes of his tongue, moving further and further down until—!

“Cas..?” Dean choked, his eyes going wide as he clasped one of his hands around the angel’s arm in horrified realization. “Cas, that’s—! Fuck, stop it! Stop it,  _ Cas! _ ”

Castiel obliged, stopping his ministrations to send a patient, yet quizzical gaze down the length of Dean’s body. Dean’s insides trembled when the dark pupils of the angel’s eyes seemed to dilate even further when Dean met his gaze.

“That’s—” Dean groaned, trying to catch his breath. “For fuck’s sake, man, that’s not— It’s not  _ sanitary! _ ” he ended helplessly, not capable of thinking straight with Cas’ eyes fixed on him like that, like a hungry wolf eyeing a piece of raw meat. “You know, there’s— I mean, you’re supposed to _ clean out _ and—“

His poorly constructed sentence ended abruptly with a garbled gasp as his entire body jerked when the feeling as of being dumped in a pool of icy cold water rushed over his skin. Castiel’s grace wrapped around and washed over him, covering every inch of his being in less than a split second of freezing paralysation.

“Dude, what the  _ hell?! _ ” he demanded, desperately trying to worm out of the iron grip of the angel’s arms, but without success.

“You are, as of now, the most sanitary person on the whole planet,” Cas stated slowly. Dean tried and failed to hold back a shiver when he felt the angel’s mouth move against the inside of his thigh as Castiel continued to speak, “The Holy Throne of Heaven itself could not be cleaner, so unless there’s anything else, I suggest you try to relax a little.”

“Now, hold on,” Dean objected, “You— You can’t jus—  _ Oh, fuck… _ ”

He choked down the curse when he felt Castiel’s mouth move back down, the wet slide of Cas’ tongue coaxing a violent tremor out of him. He his his face in his hands, the muscles in his legs tensing against the other male’s shoulders, and Castiel immediately moved one of his hands from around his waist to grasp around his thigh, holding him in place.

Wet, hot, slippery, and absolutely fucking  _ weird _ , that’s how it felt. 

The swipe of grace from before had been  _ nothing _ in comparison, and the feeling of his own fingers couldn’t possibly come close to what he was currently experiencing, there was just no  _ way. _

He knew that he shouldn’t like it; that it was gross and disgusting, and everything he’d never consider doing to another person for himself, but Jesus Christ, it felt so  _ good. _ Cas was licking over him, worshiping the most private part of him with the same reverence as he had been doing everything else. The contradiction was sending sparks of arousal down Dean’s spine, and he couldn’t believe this was happening. He couldn’t believe he was actually  _ enjoying  _ this…!  

He felt so exposed and helplessly spread open where he was, hoisted into the air with only his shoulders touching the sheets with nowhere to go, nothing to brace himself against. He had his arms flung over his face, his fingers clasping desperately around the pillows of the bed to ground himself, and it was all so  _ embarrassing _ , yet so  _ fucking amazing _ . 

His face was flushing, his mouth open and panting, sucking air into his lungs in stuttering breaths, eyes screwed shut beneath the protective cover of his own limbs. He felt so humiliated and so insanely turned on, all at the same time. The emotions struggled in his chest while the pleasure pulled at his insides, and he was so grateful for the fact that Cas couldn’t  _ hear _ him, couldn’t perceive the insane babbling that went on inside his head, because it was something he could barely withstand for himself. 

The heat of Castiel’s mouth was spreading like wildfire all throughout his body, but he couldn’t allow himself to let it show, because it  _ shouldn’t _ feel this good, and he  _ shouldn’t _ be enjoying it the way he was! He was supposed to find it  _ uncomfortable _ and  _ nasty _ and absolutely  _ repulsive, _ and he was biting his lip so hard he could sense the coppery taste of blood on his tongue. He couldn’t show it, he couldn’t let himself go, because he wouldn’t be able to take it back, he wouldn’t be able to deny—  _ Oh, sweet Jesus…! _

His body was shaking violently, as if freezing cold. His hands were fisting the pillow beneath his head so hard his knuckles were crackling, and he wasn’t sure how much longer he’d be able to take this. Then the air rushing down his lungs stuttered to an abrupt halt as his eyes flared open, a choked groan wheezing out of his throat because Cas did  _ not _ just shove his  _ tongue _ — 

“Cas!” he whimpered, “Cas wait, I—! Please, I can’t—  _ Fuck…! _ ”

He tried to wriggle away again, but the hands wrapped around his waist and his thigh simply tightened their grip like a vice, refusing to let him go. When Dean felt the pressure of the angel’s tongue press against and  _ breach _ him once more, he buried his face in his hands and choked out a broken moan, gritting his teeth so hard he feared they might shatter. 

He could feel Castiel’s grace beckon for him, asking him to open up the bond once more, but he couldn’t concentrate, couldn’t even open his mouth enough to speak a single coherent sentence, much less manage to establish a psychic connection inside his head. He was only just capable of tossing his head from side to side, wounded sounds of pleasure escaping through clenched teeth because fuck, fuck,  _ fuck! _

He knew that the angel was watching him. He could feel the weight of that gaze upon his body as clearly as he could feel the hot wetness of the tongue thrusting into him, but he couldn’t look, he just  _ couldn’t.  _ Knowing what the angel was doing to him was enough;  _ seeing _ it would ruin him for life. 

His own erection was lying thick and heavy against his abdomen, pearling clear liquid at the tip, and just the fact that he still had one – that this treatment made the blood in his body rush south like that – caused his cheeks to burn hot with shame. God, what if people  _ knew _ that Dean Winchester liked getting licked out by his angel boyfriend like some kind of—Like a— Dammit, he couldn’t even come up with a proper insult for himself anymore! 

It only got worse when the hand that had been stroking soothingly up and down the length of his thigh moved down to join the tongue’s work, slipping into him with an ease that shouldn’t have been possible. Dean felt himself clench down around the digit as it began moving, thrusting slowly, and then his entire body went rigid against the sheets when the finger  _ curled _ inside him. His mouth fell open in a sharp gasp, hips jerking up, and before he knew it he was pushing  _ back _ , electric pleasure coursing through every nerve in his body. 

He had _ no idea  _ that it would feel like this. Dear  _ God _ , if only he had  _ known _ , holy shit, he had no  _ idea— _

Castiel’s mouth moved up to kiss along the inside of his left thigh, the stubble scratching against the skin and making Dean’s nerves twitch. The angel was murmuring something under his breath that Dean couldn’t understand, but the soft gravel of that rough voice sent chills up his spine in a way that could only mean that the words spilling from the angel’s mouth were of no earthly language. 

When Castiel added a second finger, Dean’s eyes flew open with a strangled whimper, staring up at the ceiling above him in horrified shock because that actually  _ hurt _ . The pain startled him out of his current state of pleasured incoherency and Castiel stopped, sending him a concerned look when he felt the human’s body tense up. 

He didn’t say anything, but Dean knew that he was watching him, and he knew that he was being offered a chance to make it all stop, again. If he asked it, Castiel would stop what he was doing and let Dean fuck him instead, just like last time. He wouldn’t even mind bottoming for him, oh, no. The angel would lie down eagerly and spread himself out for Dean to use as he wanted, because Castiel would never deny him anything, because Castiel  _ loved _ him, and he would do anything to make sure Dean was happy, whether Dean believed it or not and Jesus,  _ Cas…  _

“Dean…?”

The low timbre of Castiel’s voice pulled him back to the present, and he forced his gaze to move along the length of his body until they met with the angel’s blue eyes regarding him from above.

He still had a choice. He could still say no.

But he didn’t. 

Instead, he nodded, and he sucked in a shuddering breath into his lungs when Castiel’s fingers started moving again. His eyelids fluttered, but he fought to keep his eyes open, because Cas wanted this. Cas wanted him to  _ see _ , and Dean would  _ watch _ , because Cas  _ wanted _ him to watch, and god help him, it actually made it all so much better and worse all at the same time. 

The pain that had been dry and sharp just moments ago, had melted away beneath the soft pressure of Castiel’s fingers, and Dean suspected that Cas was using the same mojo on him as he had used on himself the last time they… did stuff like this.

It made it easier to relax, and Dean found that as he willed the tight clench of his muscles down, the slow push and pull of the digits inside him soon had him panting for breath. He couldn’t see the spot where Castiel’s fingers disappeared inside him, but he could see the movement of the other’s arm, could follow the slow twist of the angel’s wrist, and he groaned, stomach flipping wildly when he heard Cas moan back. 

Castiel was watching his fingers work Dean open, seemingly mesmerized by what he saw, and Dean felt a third finger enter him, scissoring him with a slow, heavenly burn.

“Cas…” 

Castiel looked up at him, but he didn’t stop this time, only slowing down, and Dean had to bite back a groan of frustration that startled even himself when he realized that he didn’t want the angel to do that either. He opened his mouth to send the angel some snappy comment, something that would give him back the pleasure of Castiel’s fingers and allow him to keep his dignity at the same time, but the words died on his tongue when he met the look of absolute endearment from Castiel’s eyes. Goosebumps prickled the skin all over his body, because Castiel was looking at him like he was something _ precious,  _ and that just made it all a million times  _ worse _ .

For the longest time, Dean couldn’t look away – couldn’t think, couldn’t  _ move  _ – and then a strangled breath left his lungs in a shudder that made his gut clench hard and he swallowed, eyes fighting to stay open while the angel’s fingers moved to rub gently against the insides of him.

“Cas…” he whispered, his voice tearing, strung out and baffled. “What the hell have you done to me, man…?” 

Castiel’s fingers stopped moving then as the angel’s brow furrowed. A whimper slipped out between Dean’s lips, because no, no, don’t stop, that’s not what he meant, god dammit, don’t  _ stop! _

He pulled at the angel with his legs, urging him to resume what he had been doing, but instead of doing so, Castiel released him, allowing Dean’s body to slump back down onto the mattress with a muted thud. 

As he pulled his fingers out, Dean felt the cool rush of grace against his skin once more when Castiel cleaned his fingers off before crawling up Dean’s body. Slowly, he kissed his way up Dean’s hips, his stomach, his chest and his clavicle, up onto his neck until he was nuzzling the tiny hairs at Dean’s temple.

“Dean,” he murmured, and the name rolled off his tongue like liquid velvet, warm and safe. “If you want me to stop…?”

“No,” Dean winced, “No, I don’t, I—” He shivered, closing his eyes tight. “Just touch me. Dammit, just— Don’t make me beg for it, Cas, please don’t.”

He felt a pair of lips press against the nape of his neck, lovingly and gentle, and then Castiel’s hand moved, slowly slipping down the front of him until it curled around Dean’s erection in two, lazy strokes. Dean’s heart froze inside his chest when the angel’s weight left him, the empty space above him filling with the clink of a belt coming undone, followed by the low rustle of fabric.

“Just breathe, beloved,” the angel whispered softly. Dean felt his knees getting nudged apart, the hard length of Castiel’s erection brushing against the inside of his thigh. “Just breathe…”

Dean nodded, not really caring what exactly he was agreeing too anymore. When the blunt tip of Castiel’s cock pressed against his entrance, his hands scrambled across the beddings to fist in whatever they could find, bracing for the horrible pain of being split down the middle that he was sure was coming, because shit, they didn’t even have any  _ lube _ for fuck’s sake! 

His pulse was racing inside his head, the thunderous beats of his own heart drowning out everything as the room got submerged into an unnatural silence where every breath from their mouths and creak of the mattress below seemed sharp and loud enough to punch a hole right through his eardrums. He was  _ scared _ , was fucking  _ shaking _ with it; the sharp, metallic fear of this new, unknown thing filling up his entire world. 

“Cas… Are you sure we shouldn’t… slicken it up a bit?” he winced, feeling his cheeks heat up even further, embarrassment for sounding like such a freaking girl making him blush in spite of himself. Castiel just shushed him, and something on the other end of the bond stirred when the angel reached down between their bodies. 

“Just relax…” he murmured. “I told you I’d take care of you. But if traditional lubrication will make you feel better…”

Dean gulped, but when Castiel leaned in to press against his entrance for the second time, he could feel a slick coolness that definitely wasn’t saliva spread over his skin. He let out a shuddering breath of air against the angel’s shoulder. The fucker actually used his angel magic to produce  _ lube _ . If Dean hadn’t been so busy silently panicking, he would have laughed his goddamn head off.

The humor of the situation was lost the second Castiel’s weight shifted, however, and Dean quickly forgot all about angel mojo when the ability to breathe seemed to leave him in a single, violent rush. Castiel moved slowly, every inch gained stretching Dean to the point where he was convinced that he would not be capable of taking any more. That his body would lock up in pain beyond his imagination at any second, because this shouldn’t be possible, there was no way that this was going to work. 

But the pain never came.

Instead there was a slow, firm and demanding increase of pressure working itself through him, and Dean could literally feel his body try to fight back the intrusion, feel the muscles pulse and clench on the inside of him in a rhythm beyond his control. Then something just seemed to  _ give, _ and before he got a chance to react, Castiel was inside him, sliding all the way home in a single, fluent push that made Dean mewl helplessly against the angel’s chest, eyes blindly staring into thin air. 

It was like frozen fire, bright and blazing, and he remembered the word ‘lightning’ ringing clear as a bell inside his head. Castiel let out a quivering moan as he was fully sheathed inside, and he leaned down, pressing his forehead against Dean’s clavicle. Above them, the large wings trembled, filling up the air with a millions whispering voices.

The muscles in the angel’s arms were tense, as if the hands pushing down into the beddings by Dean’s sides were holding up the weight of the entire universe. Castiel’s eyes had been clenched shut, and his breath was coming out in short gasps of pleasure that Dean could recall for himself all too well. 

_ This is his first time _ , Dean thought, bewildered realization cutting through his brain. Above him, he could hear Castiel drag in a sharp mouthful of air, as if the same thing had just occurred to him as well. Then, he  _ moved _ , the length inside Dean’s body sliding out and then back in with slow, controlled movements of the angel’s hips that were immediately contradicted by the violent quiver rippling through the wings above a second later. 

Castiel moaned again, a broken sigh that wound itself up the angel’s throat, and Dean couldn’t bear to watch it, he couldn’t— 

He hid his face in the pillow, breathing deeply as the celestial creature continued to move inside him, limbs shaking from a tension neither of them could control, much less stop, and Dean didn’t know what to  _ do  _ with himself.

Castiel moved so  _ slow _ , so gently and  _ lovingly, _ and he couldn’t  _ take it. _ He needed Cas to  _ move _ , to fucking pound into him and take his breath away like he did before, out there in the living room. He needed it  _ rough, _ and  _ hard, _ and  _ violent _ – every fibre of his being screaming out for the angel to release whatever divine force he was holding back, because Dean needed to  _ focus _ on something other than this torturous tenderness that was slowly eating him up from the inside out.

“Cas,” he begged. “Move. Oh, for God’s sake,  _ move…! _ ” 

Castiel moaned, his head tipping down when he heard the broken hiss of Dean’s voice, but he didn’t change the pace. He kept working the same, steady rhythm, and Dean threw his head back against the pillow, fisting the covers beneath him with an arch of his back that made the hardness inside him slide in that final, godforsaken inch that he didn’t even know he needed as the sudden stimulus of his prostate short-circuited his brain all over again.

“Fuck..!” he gasped, hips rolling down as he arched again, searching,  _ needing _ . “Oh God, again… Again, Cas, Jesus Christ…!”

His body moved before his brain did, meeting with the thrust of the angel’s body, and he heard Cas choke out a groan that made the hairs on Dean’s arms stand up when he ground down. There was a mighty gush of wind when Castiel suddenly straightened up, the giant wings on his back spreading as he sat back on his heels and grabbed hold of Dean’s legs, pulling them up on either side of his hips, and Dean let go of the sheets in favor of burying a breathless cry into the crook of his left arm. 

His lips were moving without sound, mouthing incoherent words of complete nonsense against his own skin – a low litany of ‘please’, and ‘move’, and ‘fuck’ that melted together into a single string of desperate noises. His prayers, however, were left unanswered, as Castiel didn’t speed up in the slightest. He did, however, put more strength behind his thrusts, and Dean’s head filled with flashes of white with each firm roll of the angel’s hips. 

The heat in his belly was boiling, fire licking sinfully up his spine in long, icing swipes. He could feel the sparks build, could feel the blissful end bubble just beneath the surface, the agonizing slow movements of Castiel’s cock against the bundle of nerves inside him making his entire body shake. He could sense the waves of his impending orgasm draw nearer, rolling in and falling down, rolling in and falling down like the ocean during the rising tide, and he didn’t know what to do with himself, didn’t know where to go. The only thing existing was the desire of feeling the heat of Castiel’s body pressed in against him, moving with him, but just thinking wasn’t enough, it wasn’t  _ enough _ . _..! _

He reached out, hand flailing blindly, and somehow he managed to find and rake his fingers down the back of the angel’s hand holding on to his knee. Thankfully, Cas seemed to get the point and leaned down, bracing his hand against the mattress next to Dean’s head. Friction, sweet and deliriously good finally pressed in over Dean’s weeping cock, the precum smearing across their stomachs as they continued to rock against each other, every inch of them touching, moving. Dean let out a broken sob towards the ceiling, hated himself for not being able to hold it back, and Castiel’s hand flexed into the pillow by his side, two fingers spreading to ghost against the arm still covering Dean’s face.

“Dean…” Castiel breathed. “Dean, look at me…”

Dean reluctantly moved his arm away, though he didn’t want to. He didn’t want Castiel to see him like this, but he did it anyway, something in the angel’s voice forcing him to. 

He looked up, expecting eyes to gaze back at him with the same, soul-searching blue as they always did, but instead, he let out a whimpered breath when the calm, celestial depths he had imagined were nowhere to be seen. Cas was looking at him, his face a mixture of pure delirium, blissful amazement and terrified concern; emotions that a creature like him should not even be capable of having swirling within his gaze. His mouth was open, moving without sound with each rush of air from his lungs, verging on the line of helplessness.

“Dean…”

His name… Dear god, had anyone ever said his name like that before? 

Castiel was looking completely lost, the desperation in his eyes contradicting the control of his movements in a way that should have been impossible. It struck Dean like a fist to the face that the angel was actually trying to reach out to him, the low shudder of his voice pleading for some sort of response. 

“Dean, I don’t know if I can—” Castiel groaned, body freezing with a violent tremor that sent every feather of his wings spiking. “It feels so good,” he breathed, and his voice cracked as he let out a throaty whine against the pillow. “It feels so  _ good… _ ”

For a few, heart stuttering seconds, time seemed to halt around them; stunned and gaping. Then Dean reached down, and Castiel followed the movement of his hand out of the corner of half lidded eyes as Dean grasped around the angel’s hip and slowly pushed them forward, guiding Cas to resume the slow thrusting from before. 

Castiel closed his eyes as he let out a breathless gasp, craning his head to the ceiling.  

“C’mon…” Dean murmured, words coming out balancing on the brink of incoherent. “C’mon, just a little faster… Give it to me, Cas, c’mon…”

Castiel’s hips snapped forward in an erratic spasm that left them both gasping for air, and Dean’s eyes widened when the angel did it again, and then again, and again, and  _ again.  _ The pace was slow, but the thrusts were unyielding, pelvis rolling and cock rubbing against that sweet, sweet spot inside of him that sent Dean into a breathless, quivering fit. His hands grabbed for damp, dark hair, nails raking down the angel’s chest and arms in search for refuge. He gasped, bracing his weight against the mattress, pushing up and  _ in _ , feeling Castiel’s breath rush over the skin of his chest when the angel hung his head down, eyes screwing shut and lips moving, over and over, whispering and whimpering.

“Dean…  _ Zirdo ialpon… Oi Norqrasahi…! _ Dean, I’m—”

Castiel was talking, an endless stream of words that wound themselves through Dean’s very existence as another of those embarrassing sounds slipped over the seam of Dean’s lips. A pleading, begging noise that he knew that he should loathe, but the sound of it – the vibrating tone at the back of his throat as the syllable of Castiel’s name broke free from his mouth – seemed to be the final straw. The last drop of water that made the dam crack and crumble with a thunderous roar.

Dean’s hands found and held on to Castiel’s shoulders just as the barrier broke, the furious tide washing over them both in a rush so strong it seemed to wipe all the color out of the world. It was hot and scorching like fire, their orgasm seemingly drawing on forever like a star burning out of the sky.  

The only thing Dean could see was the way Castiel’s mouth fell open, the only noise reaching his ears being the choked out sound of his own name just before the light in the angel’s eyes flared up and whited out  _ everything _ . The blaze forced Dean to avert his gaze, but sweet Jesus, he could still  _ see _ it – could see it with a clarity that was close to  _ terrifying,  _ and it was amazing, and so beautiful, and absolutely  _ wonderful  _ all at once, Dean could barely bring himself to  _ breathe _ .

It only lasted for a split second – a moment within a moment between moments – and then it was gone. Dean slumped back into the pillows, gasping and panting with a heart which seemed dead set on crashing through his ribcage at any second, choking out the air from his lungs with the weight of Castiel’s body splayed out on top of him like a giant, feathery comforter.

He was vaguely aware of the fact that he was shaking, but he didn’t really register it before Castiel suddenly shifted his weight, the length still inside Dean rubbing against his prostate and sending his entire body into a hysterical fit. 

“Shit!” he gasped, hands shooting down to push at the angel’s hips. “Oh God, pull out…!” he pleaded, “You have to pull out, I can’t—!” 

The sensation went beyond intense – he couldn’t even describe it, he just needed Cas out and away from  _ that _ part of him right the fuck  _ now, _ because he wasn’t sure if any further contact down there would make him die or come all over himself for a second time.

Luckily for his sanity, Castiel obliged, although a bit sloppily as he simply shoved himself up and tilted his hips to the side, and Dean let out a disgusted groan when he felt the warm stickiness that seeped down onto the sheets below when the angel slid out off him. He made a quick, completely impartial decision that Cas was  _ so _ going to use his magic to clean that mess up later. 

He had barely finished the thought when he choked down a massive gulp of air as Cas unceremoniously gave him the angelic version of an ice bath,  _ again _ , and he cursed loudly, rewarding the angel with a hard shove in the side with his elbow.

“Apologies,“ Castiel murmured against his shoulder. Dean snorted.

“Yeah, right. As if you don’t know exactly what that feels like,” he mocked dryly. “We seriously need to fix the temperature defect on that…” he added, another involuntary shiver coursing through him. Castiel responded by grumbling something incoherent against his neck.

_ You have to be a bit clearer, babe, _ Dean drawled, opening up the bond once more. _ I don’t speak grumble when I’m sober. _

The head pressing in against his neck rose slowly, a pair of blue eyes sending him a squinted glare, but when Dean simply grinned back, the corner of the angel’s mouth slowly twitched up into a smile. Lifting himself off the pillow, Castiel moved in to give him a kiss on the mouth, but Dean flinched away, bringing a hand up to shield himself with a disgusted sound.

“Dude, I’m not kissing you with that mouth!”

Castiel frowned as he propped himself up on his elbows and rolled onto his side, the two large wings folding down along his back with a defensive rustle.

“You’re being ridiculous,” he argued, sounding somewhat offended, “I told you—”

“That I was cleaner than God’s reading chair, yeah, I heard you,” Dean interrupted. “And I trust you, it’s just the knowledge of… you know?” He made a vague motion with his hand and Castiel rolled his eyes to the ceiling, muttering an exasperated ‘humans’ under his breath. Dean chuckled, feeling the post-orgasm slumber beginning to sneak up on him.

“So, was it like you imagined it?” he asked, suddenly immensely curious about what the angel had thought about his first, genuine roll in the sack. Castiel frowned, seemingly thinking the question over.

“No,” he said eventually after what felt like at least five minutes. “In all honesty, I’d have to say that it was—”

“Dude, if you say ‘better’, I’m going to revoke all of your TV privileges,” Dean threatened.

“Then I won’t say it,” the angel concluded, and Dean, though he tried, could not determine whether the angel was playing him or not, until Castiel sent him a bright flash of amusement through the bond as he allowed his head to fall back down against the pillow with a content sigh.

“Hey,” Dean nudged him in the side with his elbow, suddenly remembering something. “This whole, time-within-time thing… How long will it last?”

“As long as I want it to,” the angel shrugged – a crooked little movement consisting of only one shoulder and half a wing. ”But I suppose two or three days would be my limit.” 

“So technically, we could stay here as long as we want?” Dean asked smugly. “We could be here for hours and no one would ever know?”

“Technically, yes.”

“Sweet…”

Dean folded his arms behind his head, settling his body down against the mattress. His muscles were aching, his skin still prickling with goosebumps from his orgasm, and his ass felt strangely… empty? Okay, that was definitely weird, but he quickly decided that it could have been a lot worse than that. He would get used to it in time, surely.

A split second after he finished the thought, he became aware of what it was that he was actually considering, and the realization almost had him hyperventilating for a moment. Jesus, he was still coming down from round one, and he was already thinking about doing this again?

He glanced at Castiel, who was still nuzzling into the crook of his own arms, lying flat on his stomach with his arms folded over the pillow. The large wings were curled up in a half stretch across the bed, and Dean swallowed, willing his pulse down to normal.

He was still alive, right? And so far, he didn’t have any sudden urges to run out and get a manicure or join a knitting class, so it couldn’t be all that bad. He was still a  _ man _ , evidently.  

_ All that fuzz _ … a little voice inside his head murmured, and again, that calm blanket from before seemed to lower itself over him, acceptance curling around his soul and lulling his anxiety to sleep. 

All that fuzz…

So Dean Winchester apparently liked taking it up the ass for his male, angel boyfriend.

Funny how things worked out sometimes.

He sighed again, and the slow breath seemed to drag all the poisonous thoughts out with it when he exhaled, leaving him feeling oddly cleansed and relaxed. The tension he had been carrying for the past weeks was suddenly completely gone. It was strange and new, this calm state of mind, but hey, it wouldn’t be the first major change in his life. 

His new, married,  _ halosexual _ life, filled with mind-blowing orgasms and one ridiculously blue-eyed angel. 

Fuck yeah, he could learn to roll with this.

Next to him, Castiel yawned, and Dean chuckled when the feathers on the angel’s back fluffed up on reflex before smoothing back down again as the large wings gave a subtle shake to make the quills align themselves correctly.

“They really are amazing, you know,” Dean murmured, reaching out a hand to trail a single finger down the edge of the wing closest to him. Castiel shuddered, a fit of shivers that wracked through his entire frame, but he didn’t pull away. Dean could feel the flattered rush of emotions that coursed through the angel’s grace in response to the praise. 

“I really like these,” Dean continued, leaning forward to lift one of the appendages up and reveal the dotted lines of white on the inside of the wings. “One of these days I’ll have to tie you down and study them properly. I bet your new wings came with a bunch of new sweet spots too... It might even take hours to find them all, don’t you think?” he added lewdly.

The response to the suggestion was a violent tremor and a sharp look of blue from the corner of the angel’s eye. Dean grinned, allowing the wing to drop back down again.

“Man, riling you up is the easiest thing since Shake-and-Bake,” he chuckled.

“I don’t know what a shake and bake is, but it sounds awfully inefficient,” the angel mumbled. “Not to mention messy,” he added as a second thought.

“You like it messy,” Dean teased. For a moment, Castiel looked at him as if he was going to object, but then he simply shrugged again and fell back down onto the pillow.

Dean watched him for a while, observing the way that muscular torso rose with each intake of breath while studying the subtle shift of color of the skin where the wings merged with Castiel’s human body. Healthy pink morphing into a subtle grey where the first feathery downs spread up the base of the giant limbs on the angel’s back. 

He had a fucking angel.  _ Alive _ and  _ real _ and  _ solid _ – feathers and all. How was this even his life?

“You know…” Dean mumbled, “Sam asked me yesterday why I, you know… married you.”

Castiel opened a single eye, looking at him over the ridge of his arm.

“He thought we did that just to make his spell work,” Dean continued with a chuckle. ”I told him to stop being so full of himself.” He cleared his throat, sneaking a glance at the angel from the corner of his eye.

“Besides… you already know, right? About why I did it, I mean…?”

Castiel rose slowly, propping his weight up onto his right elbow. Somehow, he even managed to tilt his head sideways even when lying on his side, and Dean licked his lips, shifting his eyes to focus at the covers bunched up by his feet.

“I know I said that time on the porch that you would only hear me say it once…” he mumbled, “But if you— I mean, if you need to, I don’t know, hear it more often…?”

“Dean.”

Dean reluctantly pulled his attention away from his own toes, meeting with the angel’s gaze. He felt his throat lock up around itself when the tip of a large wing came down to smooth tenderly against his shoulder.

“There are no need for words, beloved,” Castiel spoke softly. “I know.”

Dean swallowed, looking away again while breathing out a strained chuckle.

“Man, some chick flick moment this turned into, huh?” he mumbled towards the covers. Next to him, Castiel sighed, and Dean swore he could  _ hear _ the exasperated way those blue eyes rolled towards the ceiling when the angel spoke next.

“I still don’t understand what adolescent poultry have to do with being honest,” he complained tiredly, as if he suspected that Dean was now using the word solely for the purpose of annoying him. The statement was so typical  _ Cas _ , Dean couldn’t help but smile as he shook his head.

“You know what?” he said. “I think you  _ do  _ know; you just want to embarrass me by making me admit what a complete girl I’m turning into.” He stretched, groaning at the ache in his back as he flexed his legs against the sheets. “Fuck, there’s no way Sammy’s not going to notice something’s up when we get back. I won’t even be able to  _ pretend _ to walk properly after this.”

“You will do just fine,” Castiel promised. “Taking the abnormal angle to which your knees normally bend into consideration, no one will ever know.”

Dean turned his head, giving the angel an openmouthed stare.

“Dude, did you just make fun of my  _ legs _ ?” he asked, amused disbelief loud and audible within his words, but Castiel simply shrugged again, eyes travelling down the length of the two limbs in question.

“You have to admit, they are not the straightest samples around,” he noted, eyebrows pointedly raised. “Kind of like yourself.”

“You know what, shut your mouth, feather-face,” Dean snorted, and Castiel’s eyes immediately narrowed, sharp blue scrutinizing him intently.

“I would guard my words wisely if I were you,” the angel warned, “I still have wings and your feet are still remarkably exposed.”

“You wouldn’t dare,” Dean huffed, trying to sound sure of himself while resisting the initial, panicked urge to pull his feet up and out of the way from the angel’s suddenly extremely threatening wingspan.

“I’m an Angel of the Lord,” Castiel countered confidently, “There are few things I do not dare.”

“Dude, I don’t care if you’re a goddamn  _ Charlie’s _ Angel; you come near my feet with those things and I’ll kick you in the fucking face.”

“Oh, really?” the angel challenged and Dean straightened up with a huff.

“I’ll sigil your feathery ass right out of bed, wise guy,” he shot back, “and if that doesn’t work I’ll— what are you doing? No, no don’t you— Don’t you come any closer with those! Cas? Cas, you wouldn’t dare. Don’t you  _ dare _ , you little—! Cas?  _ Cas! _ ”

 

/\/\/\/\/\/\

 

Sam didn’t notice when they slipped back, once more fully clothed, into the right timeline. Although, he did give Dean a strange look when Dean stumbled into the bookshelf seemingly without reason when the time cringed and shifted back into gear around them. 

After a few more moments of angel anatomy studying, Castiel then tucked his wings back to wherever they came from, and Sam spent the rest of the evening with a permanent smile on his face that not even Dean’s inappropriate jokes could wipe away.

Later that night, when the last rays of the sun had long since disappeared behind the horizon, and the only witness to Castiel’s well received cooking was the crumbs left on the plates in the sink, they were all sitting in the living room again. Sam was reading, Bobby was fiddling with something by his desk, and Dean was watching the TV with his head propped against the armrest of the couch and his legs stretched out over the seat next to him when Castiel joined them from the kitchen. Wordlessly, Dean made room for the angel on the couch, shifting his weight so that he could put an arm around the shorter male’s back and pull him in to lie down with his head resting against the side of Dean’s chest. Castiel followed obediently, without protest.

Sam watched them intently from the corner of his eye, and when Dean’s thumb started smoothing down the white fabric covering the angel’s upper arm in tender little swipes, he raised a brow towards his older brother, amusement making his lips twitch.

“What?” Dean grumbled, and Sam cleared his throat, still trying to look serious while failing miserably.

“Nothing. Just… I never picked you to be the cuddly type?” he chuckled. Dean tossed the hand he had been leaning his head against on the armrest out in a ‘so?’ gesture, still with the other wrapped around Castiel’s shoulder.

“What, a man can’t get comfortable with his husband all of a sudden?” he asked defensively, and Sam threw his hands up in mock surrender while Bobby let out a low chuckle from behind his desk. Dean promptly ignored them both and simply pulled Castiel closer as he raised the volume of the TV, the angel pliantly following with the movement with a low hum of contentment.

_ Stop being so smug _ , Dean chided softly. In return, he felt a light, incorporeal squeeze on his upper thigh.  _ And behave yourself, _ he added.  _ We’re amongst people. _

_ That’s hardly a fair request, _ the angel sent back, snuggling closer.  _ You’re the one who taught me how to misbehave amongst people in the first place. _

_ One of my best accomplishments, I’d say, _ Dean smirked. Castiel’s grace gave him a teasing flutter against the back of his heel, tickling him, and Dean jerked the leg away with a sharp hiss. Sam rolled his eyes at the ceiling.

“You two are just adorable,” he leered.

“Shut up, Sammy,” Dean snapped.

“Don’t tell me to shut up, jerk.”

“Then go read that stupid book of yours somewhere else,  _ bitch. _ ” Dean shot back, getting annoyed even though he knew his brother was just teasing him. Seriously, was it really necessary to comment on  _ every single _ thing he and Cas did? Sure, Dean would probably be doing the same thing had the roles been reversed, but at the moment he just wanted Sam to  _ shut up _ for a minute.

_ You can do that, you know _ , Castiel offered, a celestial finger slowly tracing its way up the inseam of Dean’s thigh.

_ Do what? _ Dean asked, looking down onto his leg on pure reflex, even though he knew that there was nothing there to see.

_ Make him shut up. _

Dean glanced over at his brother, who had now gone back to reading his previously mentioned stupid book. He shifted his eyes back to Castiel.

_ How? _

Castiel looked up and Dean looked back, still confused, but then his mouth curled into a mischievous little grin as Castiel’s thoughts unfurled within his mind.

Two seconds later, Sam’s book was sent soaring through the living room in a snappy pull, leaving the younger Winchester sitting in his chair with a look of stunned surprise on his face before he slowly turned towards Dean, glaring at his brother accusingly.

“What?” Dean asked innocently, pretending as if he had no idea why Sam was suddenly looking so grim. On the other side of the room, Bobby was suddenly immensely fascinated by something inside his desk drawer.

“Very funny,” Sam sneered, but when Dean didn’t make a move to confess his involvement, he sighed and got up from his chair, tramping across the room to retrieve his book.

Dean sent Castiel a sideward glance, and when Sam bent down to pick up his reading, the book slid away and out into the hallway, disappearing out of sight as if it had suddenly sprouted legs.

“Dean, tell your angel to stop messing around with my stuff!” Sam groaned. Dean threw his hands out.

“Hey, I’m just married to the dude, I don’t own him.” 

Sam rolled his eyes to the ceiling and trudged out into the hallway, muttering not-so-nice-things about his brother under his breath.

_ Again? _ Castiel asked innocently, and after sending Bobby a quick glance across the room, Dean nodded.

_ Again, _ he agreed.

With a flick of the angel’s index finger, there was the unmistakable sound of fluttering pages being heard, followed by a loud thud that revealed that Sam’s book was now lying at the top of the stairs.

“ _ Cas! _ ”

The two men on the couch barely had the time to share a quick, guilty look before Sam’s face reappeared in the doorway, a stern finger pointing at both of them.

“That’s the last one!” he ordered sternly. “No more, you got it?”

Next to him, Dean was absolutely sure that Castiel was doing his very best to look appropriately contrite, but the bond made it all too hard to believe since the angel was apparently having more fun with this than Dean himself was. Oh, dear Lord, he had corrupted an angel. If he hadn’t been so sure that being married to a Warrior of Heaven would automatically grant you a spot in Paradise, he would actually be a bit worried.

With a final, scolding look, Sam disappeared out of sight again. They all heard the heavy stomping of feet as the giant made his way up the stairs, the noise followed by a moment of suspicious silence before the steps turned around and Sam came back down into the living room, his book held firmly in the vice of his hands as he returned to his seat.

Dean could sense that Castiel was planning something else. The angel’s grace was already fluttering around the edges of his mind, and Dean held his breath, watching his brother intently as he felt Castiel’s grace gather and  _ pull. _ Sam, who had been about to sit down on his chair, ended up flat on his ass when the furniture unceremoniously moved away from beneath him and sent him plummeting to the floor with an indignant yelp.

Dean’s bark of laughter was abruptly silenced however when Sam’s head turned sharply towards the couch, eyes narrowed and lips pinched tight with accusation.

“Hey, that wasn’t me,” Dean tried, but Sam wasn’t listening. He quickly gathered himself up from the floor, eyes fixed on Dean’s face with a grim look of vengeance shadowing his features. Uh-oh.

“Look, it was Cas’ idea, alright?”

Dean had barely finished the sentence when a swift draft and the sound of flapping wings announced that the seat next to him was now gaping empty. Dean stared at the cushion in disbelief, because no way did Castiel just  _ leave _ him here!? Fucking coward angels…!

“Aw, c’mon!” he winced, turning back just in time to see a victorious smirk pull at the corner of Sam’s lip. Dean gulped, quickly easing himself off the couch and into a standing position. 

“Now, Sammy, let’s not do anything we might regret later,” he tried to reason, slowly backing towards the door to the kitchen, silently trying to calculate if he would be able to make it to the front door before Sam caught up with him.

“Oh, I’m not going to regret a thing,” Sam assured him. “Can’t say the same for you though.”

“We were just having a bit of fun!” Dean pleaded, his shoulder hitting the doorframe with a loud thud. “No harm in a little fun, right? Sam?”

“Couldn’t have said it better myself,” Sam agreed. Oh, Dean did  _ not _ like the way his little brother was smiling at him right now. He looked just like when they were teens and he had threatened to—

“So… has Cas found out you’re ticklish yet?” Sam asked sweetly and yeah, Dean was officially legging it. Sam had longer legs than he did, and he needed all the head start he could get.

He bolted through the kitchen and out into the hallway, hearing Sam set off after him. He didn’t even bother trying slam the front door shut behind him as he flung himself outside, taking the stairs down, two at a time.

All in all, he did pretty good. In spite of his aching backside, it took almost fifteen minutes of continuous chasing around the property, before Sam finally managed to pin Dean to the ground outside the front porch, tackling his older brother with a firm grip around his legs and sending him face planting into the stubbled grass with a panicked cry. 

_Cas!? Cas, get your ass down here and_ save me! Dean yelled at the bond inside his head, but felt his insides freeze with dread when his demands were only met with a cool surface of amused indifference.

_ No!  _ he panted,  _ No, don’t you  _ dare _ leave me here! Cas! I’m going to kill you, you son of a bitch! Cas _ , please!  _ Please, I’ll do anything, I’ll—! _

Whatever other breathless prayer of salvation Dean tried to send towards the sky was quickly rendered incoherent, however, as Sam’s enormous palms mercilessly dug into the side of his ribs. The touch transformed the words into a series of garbled noises that even if Castiel  _ could _ hear, he surely wouldn’t have been able to understand. Besides, the angel was more than satisfied with simply watching the scene play out from his secure,  _ invisible _ spot on the porch, looking on as the two giant five-year olds continued to wrestle for power on the moonlit lawn below. Castiel noticed that Sam wasn’t being as evil as he could have been, and his wings twitched mirthfully every time Dean’s helpless peals of laughter escalated into high-pitched, girlish shrieks. 

_ Armpits _ , he noted to himself as a bowlegged limb suddenly flailed up towards the sky, aiming for Sam’s groin but missing it with at least two feet.  _ I have to remember that one…  _

 

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading, my darlings <3 I'll see you again next Thursday! ^^


	18. Epiloge

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone!  
> I know, I'm breaking my posting schedule for you guys, but I've been feeling bad about not having posted on time lately <3
> 
> I've been busy trying to get my Advent Calendar fic ready in time for December 1st, and that had to come first since there's a pretty firm, global deadline set for Christmas haha. I hope you guys can forgive me. If you're into the Captain America fandom and enjoy reading Stucky (Steve Rogers/Bucky Barnes), or just wanna give the pairing a try, then feel free to subscribe or hang around for the first chapter, because I'm so ridiculously pleased with this fic, I should be ashamed of myself XD
> 
> For those of you who are interested, here are the teaser posts I made for the fic on tumblr. (Even if you're not planning to read the fic yourselves, please feel free to reblog them to spread the word. I'm not that wellknown on tumblr (I think) and I'd really appreciate the signal boost <3 )  
> [Teaser 1](http://chiyume.tumblr.com/post/153306811009/coming-home-for-christmas-a-stucky-advent-calendar)  
>   
> [Teaser 2](http://chiyume.tumblr.com/post/153517312719/coming-home-for-christmas-a-stucky-advent-calendar)  
> 
> 
> However, enough rambling!  
> I hereby present to you the final chapter of _this_ story. I hope you'll enjoy it  <3

A warehouse.

Of course it was a warehouse.

Why was it that whenever a monster wanted to hide somewhere, it had to be someplace cold, wet and dark? Why couldn’t they ever pick someplace clean? Or at least  _ dry _ ? Even demons had more class, for Christ’s sake…

Dean barely had time to finish the thought before a cold trickle of water managed to find its way from one of the metal beams high above his head to the inside of his collar, dripping down the back of his neck. He bit back a hiss behind gritted teeth, resisting the violent urge to flinch with just a hair’s breadth.

They were supposed to have finished this job days ago – just a quick silver bullet to the heart and then back home in time to pick up pizza on the way – but then things had gotten ugly when the werewolf they thought they had been hunting turned out to be something else entirely. And hey, didn’t  _ that  _ bring back memories… 

Two first-aid angel treatments and one phone call to Bobby later, they had confirmed that what they were dealing with was called an Amarok, and was merely a distant relative of the werewolf – meaning it was bigger, meaner, and didn’t shape-shift. It lived alone, was a nomadic creature, and a silver bullet would only slow it down, not kill it. To do that, they needed something more… solid. 

That’s why they had tracked the son of a bitch far into the abandoned parts of this one-horse town. More specifically, inside this old factory, where Dean was now on stake out in the middle of the night outside the creature’s temporary lair, waiting for something,  _ anything _ to happen. The power to the building had been cut off years ago, so they had been given no choice but to venture inside in the dark, using whatever light that managed to shine in through the busted windows from the streetlights outside as guidance. 

Yet, for some reason, the lack of illumination didn’t feel as hazardous to Dean as it probably should have. Not with the bright, sparking presence of reassurance in the far-off corner of his mind that made the otherwise threatening darkness around him feel almost safe.

_ Cas?  _ He prodded at the link, lowering his thoughts to a whisper on mere reflex.

_ Yes, Dean. _

Castiel didn’t whisper, but his voice was calm and steady; the complete counterpart of Dean’s increasing restlessness.

_ Any sign of it from your position? _ Dean’s eyes flickered towards the back of the building where he had left the angel and his brother over half an hour ago.

_ Not yet _ , Castiel admitted. Dean let out an exasperated sigh. 

_ Figures, _ he muttered, rolling his eyes.  _ You guys still out back? _

_ We’re coming around the other side now. You? _

_ Sittin’ tight, _ Dean grumbled, grimacing at the prickling sensation growing inside his left boot that announced that his foot was about to fall asleep. Why did he have to go and pick such a tiny space?  _ Why _ ?

_ Dean? _ Castiel’s tone made Dean’s mind snap back to the conversation, focusing harder on the link inside his head.

_ Yeah?  _ he asked, and in return, the unmistakable sensation of having a hand pressing over his left shoulder filled the bond, warming him from the inside out.

_ Be careful. _

The corner of Dean’s mouth twitched as the warm glow of the angel’s concern flowed through his body to settle inside his chest in a fuzzy ball of light.

_ I’m always careful _ , he answered confidently. The phantom hand squeezed around his arm once more before letting go, and Dean let the bond between them fall slack, sending a reassuring pulse through the link before he tuned out completely.

He rolled his shoulders and carefully adjusted the crouched position he was in, trying to savor the heat of Castiel’s presence for as long as he could. He was currently hiding beneath a broken fire escape, with the entrance to his hideout partially covered by an old plastic tarp that fluttered in the cold draft from the open vents in the wall close by. 

It was a tight fit; barely enough for him to squeeze into, but it was the only place that allowed him to overlook the main machine hall from a somewhat secure position. They had watched the creature drag itself in and down one of the man-sized drainage pipes almost an hour ago, disappearing into its hideout, but they had decided to wait it out rather than venturing after it. 

Dean didn’t like it; every minute of waiting gave the creep more time to recuperate, and he had no desire to get into a fight with that thing once it was back up to speed again. On the other hand, the prospect of getting cornered inside a pitch-black pipeline didn’t exactly feel encouraging either.

Another freezing drop of water splashed against his skin and he shuddered, cursing under his breath when the prickling cold spread goose bumps all the way down to his elbows. The silver blade stuck into his right boot was chafing his ankle where his sock had ridden down, and there was a nasty itch right below his left shoulder blade that was damn near killing him. He didn’t want to move, though, not yet – some superstitious part of his mind was whispering poisonous promises that the moment he went searching for higher ground, the creature would reappear from its hideout, spot him and tear him to pieces before he got the chance to wiggle as much as his big toe.

He stifled a groan as he tried to stretch his limbs to whatever width the small space would accommodate, when suddenly a loud, metallic clang echoed through the empty hall and startled him. 

His hand immediately went for his gun before he remembered that shooting wasn’t really an option tonight. Sneaking a peek between the shredded remains of plastic that hung before his eyes, he saw the creature crawl out to the edge of the pipe where it had disappeared earlier, its grey fur still bloody and matted where the bullet from Sam’s gun had torn up a nasty wound in its shoulder. He had to admit it; Sammy’s skills with the gun weren’t all that bad. Not that he would ever admit it to his face, but still…

The creature, who looked a lot like Big Foot’s less attractive brother, raised its ugly head into the air and sniffed; a snarly, wet sound that resonated against the walls. In the back of his mind, Dean’s thoughts immediately went to the vent sitting right in front of him, wondering if the draft was somehow enough to reveal his presence, and if so – how much time would he have to get away?

The thing in the pipe let out a growl that slowly morphed into a breathed out huff of air, beady black eyes scanning the hall intently, but it didn’t move. Dean swallowed, licking his lips. Apparently, the breeze from the vent wasn’t enough to compromise his position, which was good in every possible way, but they still needed to get the ugly son of a bitch out of the pipe, or they would never be able to get close enough…  

_ It’s coming out, _ he informed through the link, receiving a light nod of affirmation in return from Castiel.  _ But we might have a problem, _ he added.

_ What sort of problem? _

_ It doesn’t want to leave the pipe. It’s lurking right at the entrance. _

Dean felt Castiel’s mind zone out slightly as he forwarded the message to Sam before returning.

_ Is it injured?  _  he asked.

_ It’s still bleeding. Sammy’s bullet apparently hit a vital spot. _

There was another muted silence, and after a moment of hesitant flickering, the link flared up in a sharp spark of resolve before immediately thinning down into a single, restricted channel that hid everything but Castiel’s mental voice from Dean’s mind. Dean had a very strong feeling that whatever it was that was about to happen in the next couple of minutes, he probably wasn’t going to like it.

_ Alright, stay where you are. _

The order – because it sure as hell wasn’t a request – together with the sudden limitations of the bond, made the suspicion harden in Dean’s gut like a weight of lead, and his chest tightened almost painfully around his lungs when he felt Castiel begin to pull away from him.

_ Why, what are you going to do?  _ he demanded, but Castiel snapped the link before his words even reached halfway through.

_ Cas…? Cas! _

Dammit!

Dean cursed under his breath, sending a vicious tirade towards the now sealed-off part of his mind, and was met with a close to offensive avoidance that made his fingers itch. Fricking angels…!

He quenched a frustrated groan and focused his attention on the beast less than twenty feet to his right. Cas wasn’t stupid. On the contrary, he was actually pretty damn smart, but still, the other’s lack of response was unnerving. What kind of move were those two idiots out there planning that they didn’t want him to know about?

The answer to his question became evident when Sam suddenly stepped out behind a partially wrecked control panel, approximately five long strides away from where the Amarok was sitting. He made no attempt to hide his presence, and Dean realized with another muffled curse that the moron was using himself as  _ bait! _

He watched Sam raise his gun to aim straight for the creature's head at the same time as the Amarok turned towards him with a low snarl; its black, evil eyes locking onto the weapon in the Winchester’s hands with a flash of recognition. Sam caught the look and smirked, seemingly not the slightest bit fazed by the three hundred pounds of eminent death that was glaring back at him when he waved his gun a bit to the creature’s left, motioning to the blood still seeping down the injured arm.

“How’s the shoulder?” he asked sweetly, but Dean could hear the unspoken ‘fuck you’ as clearly as if his brother had been using a megaphone and amplifier. Apparently, the Amarok could too, because the beast let out a deafening roar and launched itself out of its hideout in a flash of bared claws and teeth that left deep wounds in the concrete floor. 

It was fast; not like a Wendigo, but far quicker than a werewolf, and Dean almost broke cover when he saw Sam throw himself to the side, barely avoiding getting his back sliced open by the creature’s claws. Every inch of Dean’s body was screaming for him to get out there and help his brother, before the fool managed to get himself killed! 

Then suddenly, an ear wrenching scraping sounded through the empty hall, and the creature stopped mid-leap to turn back towards the pipe from whence it came, only to see Castiel plug the opening shut with a giant piece of a crumpled metal beam.

“Oh, sorry. Were you planning to use that?” Sam taunted, but the beast did not seem to find the younger Winchester’s sass the slightest bit entertaining. Sam quickly found himself performing a haphazard duck-and-roll manoeuvre; the Amarok’s giant claws missing the top of his head by a bare inch. He landed on his side with a strangled groan, but managed to roll around, raise his gun and fire three rapid shots in the beast’s direction, missing twice before the last round of silver buried itself inside the Amarok’s skull, blinding its right eye in the process.

With a howl of pain, the beast staggered backwards, but Dean knew from their last encounter that it would only be moments before it gathered itself enough to form a new attack. He watched Sam sway to his feet and knew that it was now or never; they might not get an opening like this again. Crawling out from his hiding space, he slid the silver blade out of his boot in a single, fluid motion before he took off in a sprint, eyes fastened on the spot on the fur-clad back where he knew the creature’s heart was pounding beneath bars of bones. He braced himself, already leaping into the air and preparing for the wet sound of his blade cutting through flesh when he felt a pulse of dreaded panic wash through the link inside his head.

_ Dean,  _ no!

He registered Castiel’s face – pale and horror-struck somewhere to his right – just before he got hit square in the chest by a monstrous arm, the force of impact flinging him to the ground as if he was nothing but a piece of wet cloth. 

The air was knocked out of his lungs with a sickening crack of his lower back as he landed on the floor, sending the weapon flying out of his hand to land out of his reach. Pain shot through him, sharp and clear like lightning, but he couldn’t scream; the muscles in his chest were drawn too tight to allow him even a single breath. His legs were nothing but a phantom feeling below his waist, and he knew that it was bad, that it was really,  _ really _ bad. 

The fuzzy image of the rusty ceiling disappeared out of sight, and he caught a glimpse of teeth, bared and razor sharp where they loomed over his face as a breath that seemed plucked straight out of a hellhound’s mouth washed over him. It was a nauseated moment that appeared to stretch on forever, before he glimpsed something else, something blurred and unfocused at the outskirts of his vision in a flash of movement. 

Then Castiel was there, and his hands dug into greasy tufts of hair that singed and curled when the grace from the angel’s very core poured out to burn deep, oozing wounds of penance into the beast’s flesh. The monster howled again; a panicked, hysterical sound that echoed from the old factory walls when pain, swift and relentless, pierced through its skin. Castiel’s face was a mask of unforgiving vengeance as he tightened his fist around the Amarok’s fur, and the eyes that Dean knew so well disappeared in a final surge of electric blue light that burned like a molten star in the dark warehouse, slicing through the shadows like a knife through butter.

Dean watched Castiel shift his weight, barely enough to be called a movement, but the monster still jerked and twisted in the angel’s grip from the force of it. After that, there was a moment of complete silence before the scrape of metal against bone pierced the air as Sam buried the silver blade to the hilt in the monster’s chest, using the weight of his entire body to shove the dagger through and crack the bones in the beast’s ribcage. 

The Amarok twitched, once; just a feeble flexing of claws before it sagged in the angel’s grip, its fur and skin curling with smoke. Castiel tossed the creature away, barely giving Sam enough time to pull the dagger out before he strode over to drop to his knees by Dean’s side. His fingers reached out to grip around the human’s shoulder so hard that for a moment, Dean thought the angel had forgotten that he was already injured.

The stabbing pain in his chest and back were gone before he had the chance to even bat an eyelid, and he sucked in a startled breath of blood-soaked, rust-filled,  _ refreshing _ air into his lungs with a slight cough. He could sense Castiel’s grace as it skimmed over the surface of his skin, searching for any other possible damage. 

“Are you alright?” Castiel demanded with his hand still gripping tightly around Dean’s shoulder. Dean nodded, trying to push through the blanket of near suffocating concern that the angel’s mind had thrown over the bond.

“I’m fine, Cas,” he promised, reaching behind his back for support in order to push himself up into a sitting position. “The bastard just caught me by surprise, that’s all.”

_ It broke your spine, Dean. _

Dean’s mouth snapped shut so fast the tip of his tongue got snagged between his teeth. 

“What?” He said it out loud; the thought too big to fit through the bond alone.

_ Your spine, _ Castiel repeated, slower this time, and Dean felt how the floor beneath his body slowly began to tilt, his head spinning like the world around him had suddenly turned into an enormous merry-go-round.

Broke his spine… Jesus Christ, it broke his spine…! 

Images of himself, crippled and useless in a wheelchair for the rest of his life, flashed before his eyes, and he didn’t realize that he had grabbed hold of Castiel’s hand until he felt the angel squeeze his fingers back.

_ Cas…  _ he choked, but Castiel quickly intercepted him.

_ I can heal literally any physical injury you might inflict upon yourself, Dean, we both know that, _ he said softly, _ but that doesn’t make seeing you get hurt any less painful. _

Dean opened his mouth, maybe to ask how the hell the other could possibly talk as if Dean’s injury was something that caused  _ him  _ more pain than it did Dean. Then he shut it again, realizing when he met the look from Cas’ eyes that this was not what the angel meant at all. 

Castiel and he were married, in a way beyond that of any other partnership that had ever been founded on this earth, but that didn’t mean that they would be inseparable forever. There would inevitably come a time where Castiel would not be there to immediately save him from whatever danger, he in his human stupidity, might stumble into, and if the angel’s absence would result in Dean being irreparably damaged, even if only for a short time, that would cause Castiel such guilt that for others to simply witness it would be painful. 

Dean should know, he had seen it before, and recalling those memories now after assuming such selfish things about Castiel’s statement made him feel horribly ashamed and sheepish.

_ Sorry, _ he mumbled, remembering the feeling of terror that had flooded the link to his brain mere minutes before. Of course seeing Dean get mauled by that thing had made the angel react like that; Dean didn’t even want to think about what he would have done, had the roles been reversed.

_ Don’t apologize,  _ Castiel scolded.  _ You didn’t get hurt on purpose. _ Dean opened his mouth to say something more, but Cas promptly silenced him with a light phantom touch to his lips.  _ However, _ he added, _ if you could try not to get hurt in the first place next time, I would be very grateful _ . 

Dean let out an offended huff through his nose, sarcastically letting the angel know that next time, he would make sure to wear full on body armor if it made Cas stop patronizing him. When Castiel only responded to the threat by smiling in that ridiculously adoring way he always did, Dean couldn’t bring himself to do anything but smile back.

“Could you two  _ stop _ doing that when I’m around?” Sam grimaced over Castiel’s shoulder with an exaggerated eye roll. “If it gets any sweeter in here, I’m going to develop diabetes.”

“Shut up,” Dean snorted, but he accepted Sam’s offer to help him up nonetheless, clasping around his brother’s lower arm as he wobbled to his feet.

“ _ You _ shut up,” Sam shot back teasingly. “You know, sometimes I think you get hurt on purpose just to give Cas an excuse to get his hands all over you.”

“I do not!” Dean objected, actually managing to sound honestly offended by the suggestion.

“Oh, yeah?” Sam grinned. “I bet you weren’t even injured just now; just lying there, relaxing while Cas and I got all the work done.”

“Actually—” Castiel started, but silenced when Dean made an insistent tug on the bond inside his head.

_ Don’t tell him _ , he pleaded.  _ He’ll just worry _ .

_ He’s entitled to worry _ , Castiel objected firmly.

_ You know what I mean, _ Dean argued.  _ You fixed it anyway, right? Why bother him about something that doesn’t even matter anymore? _

“The fall only sprained his ankle and gave him a concussion,” Castiel continued smoothly, as if his and Dean’s internal conversation had never taken place. “I usually condone his theatrical performances, but perhaps I should let him work a bit harder for the attention from now on?” he added with a dewy-eyed glance at Dean which Dean knew was only meant to make Sam gag at how incredibly gay they were for each other – succeeding, with very convincing results. 

“You are hopeless,” Sam declared loudly. Dean responded by flipping his brother the bird at the same time as he leaned over to give Cas a long,  _ loud _ kiss on the lips, along with a mumbled ‘thank you’ through the bond. The display made Sam pull disgusted faces and flail around as if he had gotten something far more gross than monster blood on him.

They burned the Amarok’s body with an extra load of gasoline and salt, because one could never be too careful. Then Castiel temporarily removed the bunched up steel beam from the pipe to let them hide the ash and remaining pieces of bones inside. 

They didn’t go all the way into the lair. Bobby had assured them, very firmly, that no matter what experience they thought they had, they did  _ not _ want to see what it looked like in there. Castiel mojoed Sammy’s shirt and jeans clean before they headed back out, and by the time they reached the spot where they parked the car, it was almost light outside, as the sun was already in the process of rising behind the mist covering the horizon.

Cas left the very moment Dean turned the ignition on, and Sam climbed into the passenger seat, stifling a yawn as Dean pulled out of the parking lot. Even though they had begun to rent separate rooms during their hunts now, some things just never changed. Since Cas was still experiencing some problems when it came to riding in the car, he seemed rather grateful that so far, no one had requested his presence in the Impala for any longer periods of time. Usually, he was already waiting for them at the motel when the brothers got back; food and coffee at the ready for them both. It was, in fact, a luxury Dean still had some moral quarrels about accepting.

_ Hey, Cas? _  Dean poked at the flicker of light inside his head, feeling Castiel’s mind open up willingly beneath the touch, familiar and relaxed.

_ Yes, Dean? _

Dean caught himself gnawing on his bottom lip and released it, resisting the urge he felt to reach up and scratch at the back of his neck when he continued,  _ I just wanted to say thank you, _ he said quickly. _ For real, you know… _

_ For what? _ Castiel frowned, and Dean could sense the angel’s surprise when he reached out to find Dean’s side of the link pulsing out both humility and embarrassment in response to the question.

_ You know what, _ Dean mumbled, sending a jumbled sense of  _ everything _ through the bond along with the image of him  _ not _ sitting in a wheelchair. Castiel blinked, taking in the sudden stream of emotional information with a light hint of confusion, before he pulled himself together enough to answer.

_ You’re my mate, Dean, _ he said slowly. _ Healing your injuries is something I do out of concern. Why would you ever think that taking care of you would be a burden to me? _

_ I don’t know,  _ Dean muttered.  _ You’ve told me all that stuff before, but… I just don’t want you to think that I’m ungrateful or anything, you know? _

_ I know you’re not,  _ Castiel assured him fondly. Then the bond twitched, as if the angel’s attention was drawn elsewhere for a few seconds before it returned, bright and enthusiastic;  _ Would you rather have Columbian or Turkish coffee with your bagel? _

_ You’re in  _ Columbia _?  _ Dean choked.

_ No… I’m at the supermarket down the street from the motel, _ Castiel responded slowly; a quizzical frown and a mental head tilt informing Dean that the angel had absolutely no clue why Dean would think something like that. Dean almost broke out in a wide grin at the image. 

_ You’re  _ shopping _? _ he asked, allowing his amusement to flow unabashedly through the bond.  _ With what money? _

_ Yours _ , Castiel responded simply and Dean’s smile faltered, his eyes widening as his hand darted towards the pocket of his jeans only to find his wallet undoubtedly gone.

_ Thief _ , he accused through the link, but Castiel waved him off.

_ Everything of yours is mine _ , he defended himself,  _ or isn’t that how the saying goes? _

_ Very cute _ , Dean snorted, but he couldn’t help the smile that stubbornly kept tugging at the corners of his mouth.

_ The coffee, beloved _ , Castiel reminded politely. Dean shook his head with an eye roll, gesturing to his temple when Sam gave him a questioning look.

_ You know what; how about you pick this time? _ he suggested.

_ Columbian then, _ Cas decided after barely two seconds of internal consultation.  _ It’s half price, _ he informed Dean through the bond. Dean decided that it shouldn’t be possible for anyone – human or angel – to sound so pleased about a selection of coffee beans.

_ That’s great, babe _ , he said,  _ but I called to talk about something serious, if you remember? _

_ I’m listening,  _ Castiel answered. Dean could feel the weight of the angel’s undivided attention when it suddenly turned to focus on him, causing his hands to go clammy and his mouth to run dry.

_ You know I don’t take you for granted, right?  _ he asked after a few moments of swallowing down all the other phrases that didn’t want to come out right.  _ That I appreciate everything you do for me? For us? _

_ I do, _ Castiel smiled, a secretive little twitch of lips sneaking itself through the bond _. Your soul is practically screaming it in my face right now. _

_ Sorry. _ Dean immediately attempted to stifle his own thoughts, feeling his ears heat up when Castiel only chuckled in response.

_ Don’t be, _ he assured him. _ It’s actually quite pleasant. _

_ Oh. Well… I, uh…  _ The furious flush spread across his cheeks and down the back of his neck, making him feel indescribably ridiculous where he sat, mentally blabbering like an idiot.

_ You know,  _ he stammered, desperate to change the topic,  _ if you ever get tired of shopping and stuff, all you have to do is ask me or Sam and we’ll do it when we get back. Or we can go together, just you and me if you’d like? Or maybe if we ask Sam, he could—    _

_ Dean,  _ Castiel smiled,  _ I know. Now concentrate on driving; if I have to come save you from a car crash, the coffee’s going to turn stale. _

Dean snorted, sending the angel a quick reprimand for insulting his driving skills, but he obediently dropped the subject.

_ I still owe you, like, a million favors, _ he added.  _ I promise I’ll make it up to you. _

_ As many times as you’d like, beloved.  _

The bond tuned out, the feeling of Castiel’s smile still sending ripples of joy through Dean’s chest. He turned towards Sam with a grin, slapping his younger brother on the shoulder, startling him out of his near-sleeping state with a frightened gasp.

“Cas is getting us Colombian coffee and bagels,” he announced cheerfully, and Sam rubbed his eyes with the back of his hand, groaning tiredly.

“He’s in  _ Columbia _ ?” he asked, peeking out behind his fingers as he stifled a yawn behind his hand.

“No, at the supermarket,” Dean informed him with a thick layer of ‘oh Sammy you’re so silly’, secretly relieved at the fact that he had not been the only one to draw such a conclusion from Castiel’s words.

“Oh,” Sam blinked, but then he frowned, settling back against his seat with a thoughtful crease between his eyes. “He’s been doing that a lot lately, hasn’t he?” 

“Yeah,” Dean sighed. “I’ve told him that if he gets tired of it, he should just tell us, but… you know Cas; all eager to please.” 

Sam nodded and they went quiet, the rumble of the Impala’s engine breaking the silence of the otherwise so tranquil morning as the car sped down the road. After a few minutes, Dean leaned forward and turned on the radio, the tunes of  _ Bridge over Troubled Water _ streaming softly from the speakers after a few seconds of initial crackling. Sam looked at the panel, that same crease still lodged in between his eyebrows as Art Garfunkel’s subtle voice rose up in the first whispered words of the second verse, and Dean felt something thick and heavy settle somewhere next to his heart and squeeze around his lungs.

“We’re really lucky to have him, aren’t we?” Sam asked suddenly. Dean felt the knot inside his chest tighten even further, making it hard to swallow.

“Yeah…” he mumbled, clearing his throat as he fought to keep the haze that threatened to cloud his vision at bay. “We really are…”

 

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\

 

Castiel was reading when Dean finally decided to enter Bobby’s living room.

Of course, Castiel had sensed his approach for a good twenty minutes or so, since the hunter’s mind had been giving off a low buzz of combined excitement and anxiety during the entire time that made concentrating on the words on the pages before him very hard. 

So when a set of sock-clad feet came into view beneath the edge of the leather bound cover in his hands, Castiel was already anticipating it, and he slowly closed the book, memorizing the page he was on before looking up to face his, as noted, slightly fidgeting spouse.

“What’s wrong?” he asked, curious as to what could have brought the normally so straightforward human to such a mental state.

“Nothing,” Dean responded immediately, clearing his throat so sharply he left the bond vibrating with the sound of it like an echo. “Nothing’s wrong, I was just… thinking…”

Castiel slowly straightened up in his seat, brow furrowing slightly from the nervous twitch Dean’s mind made when Cas reached out to slide the fingertips of his grace against it.

“About what?” he asked, pulling back to give Dean space to answer.

“You know,” Dean murmured, his eyes doing an awkward detour towards the ceiling. “About the… uh…”

Something flashed through the link from inside the taller man’s head, and Castiel caught the glimpse of Dean and himself standing in the upstairs bathroom, a fistful of shimmering feathers gently enclosed within a pair of human hands. The scene then quickly morphed into a quick reminiscence of the conversation they had shared after the Amarok hunt a few days earlier, and he nodded.

“I see,” he said simply, even though the memory of his wedding gift and the topic of coffee provided him with little information about why Dean now appeared so embarrassed.

“Yeah.” Dean nodded, his voice still low and a bit gravely. Then he shifted his weight from one foot to the other, teeth pulling at his lower lip for a moment before he made an exasperated noise that came out somewhere between a sigh and a grunt. His eyes darted to the side as his right hand shot forth, only to halt right in front of Castiel’s face.

Castiel leaned back, narrowing his eyes to study the object dangling just a few inches from his nose, but when he made no attempt to take it, Dean groaned again, jingling the item impatiently.

“It’s a key, Einstein,” he grumbled, and Castiel’s eyes flashed up towards the human’s face before returning to the keychain. He grasped around the cool metal as the weight of it settled in the centre of his hand when Dean let it go.

“A key to what?” he asked, his voice carrying just a light hint of suspicion, as Dean’s mind was literally roaring now, like the noisy blabber from a poorly adjusted radio. 

“To the car,” Dean blurted out, swallowing hard when Castiel turned to look at him, eyes wide and confused.

“What car?” he asked, dumbfounded. Dean closed his eyes, seemingly struggling with a million different things at once before he answered, his voice snappy and agitated.

“The frickin’ ice cream truck. What do you think? The Impala, of course!”

Castiel looked down onto the key in his hand, turning it over to study the plus-shaped logo that was engraved on the metal on the other side.

“I don’t understand,” he confessed slowly, because really, this made no sense. “You’re giving me your car?”

“Hey, hey, I’m giving you a  _ key _ to the car, not the car itself,” Dean corrected quickly, his soul sending out a faint spark of shock at the mere thought.

“Okay…” Castiel nodded, turning the key over once again. “So I’m getting a key…”

“To my car,” Dean ended firmly.

“A key to your car,” the angel repeated.

“Yes.”

“Oh….”

They fell silent. Dean was looking at him expectantly as Castiel tried to wrap his mind around what this curious gift could mean.

“Thank you,” he mumbled. “I really appreciate it, but… I’m afraid I have no use for it.”

That, apparently, was not the right thing to say. Now Dean was looking absolutely  _ mortified, _ and the bond instantly turned a sickly, purplish, bruised color in response.

“Meaning I don’t even know how to drive,” the angel clarified hastily, trying to correct his mistake, but without results.

“I know that,” Dean answered sternly. Castiel licked his lips as he searched for the right argument that would make the glow of Dean’s soul return to the bond once more.

“And I get carsick,“ he tried, still not understanding what he was doing  _ wrong, _ because Dean was  _ not _ looking any happier. “Surely you remember that? After all, you’re the one who told me—“

“For God’s sake, would just  _ take the damn key already? _ ”

Castiel’s mouth shut and Dean groaned, a silent apology palming at the angel’s shoulders through the bond at the same time as Dean’s real hand came up to rub hard across the back of his own neck, sighing deeply.

“Listen, man,” Dean mumbled. “I’m no good at this whole gift-giving thing. Seriously, the last time I bought a present for anyone, I settled with a can of shaving cream from some rundown gas station in Michigan.” He let out a strained chuckle, his weight shifting once more. “Besides, I mean… what the hell do you get an  _ angel of the lord _ as a present? What does an angel even  _ need? _ ” 

Castiel scowled, trying to decipher the exasperated tone of Dean’s voice. As he watched, the hand on Dean’s neck moved to drag across the human’s scalp, leaving wild tufts of hair standing in its wake.

“You gave me a piece of your own  _ body! _ ” Dean winced, sounding more and more as if Castiel had done something highly inappropriate. “The only way for me to even come  _ close _ to that would be to chop off a  _ finger, _ and no offense, man, but I’m not doing that just to make a romantic gesture!”

Castiel opened his mouth, but then he closed it again as the part of him that had slowly begun to understand the art of correct human behaviour told him to stay quiet.

“Now, I don’t have a lot of stuff,” Dean continued, “and I sure as hell don’t have anything that could match an angel’s feathers, but I have  _ that _ .” He gestured to the car key still clutched loosely in the angel’s hand. “And I know you can’t drive for shit, and I know that if you want to go somewhere you’d rather zap yourself there instead of feeling sick all over the front seat, but I thought— You know, if you wanted to—”

He looked up from the floor, shoulders slumping down as if defeated when Castiel meet his gaze.

“Would you just take it?” he begged, his eyes pleading and desperate. “I’ll get you something better later, I promise. Whatever you want, just— Just take it. Please…?”

Castiel blinked, and then he looked down at the key in his hand, his eyes slowly tracing the shape of the gift he had been presented with. There was a cut in the metal just below the Chevrolet logo; a little snag from many, many years ago with an edge that had been smoothed down from a lifetime of fingers continuously running over it, wearing it down into something soft and pliable. He moved his thumb, tracing the pad of it lightly against the hard surface. Then he sighed – a deep, exasperated breath – before gently placing the book he had been reading aside on the couch and standing up.

“Dean…” he whispered, shaking his head at this human enigma that had become his life. His  _ purpose. _ Then he reached out and grabbed a firm hold of the front of the Winchester’s cotton shirt, pulling him in to search out and meet Dean’s mouth somewhere in the middle, just as the hot breath of Dean’s startled gasp rushed over his lips.

“Thank you,” he murmured against the corner of the other man’s mouth, and Dean responded with a stunned and half muffled, ‘You're welcome,’ before Castiel silenced him with another kiss. Taking a slow step forward, Cas then steered them both around to topple down onto the couch where he himself had been sitting, mere moments ago. Dean continued to kiss him, the anxious blabber in the human’s skull now replaced by eager excitement and indescribable relief.

“I thought—“ Dean started, interrupting himself to gasp for breath against the angel’s lower lip. “I thought you wouldn’t like it,” he confessed. Castiel grumbled, shaking his head.

“It’s perfect,” he declared firmly, bringing his free hand up to curl his blunt nails against the soft hairs at the nape of Dean’s neck, before pulling back a little. “Does this mean that I’ll have to learn how to drive?” he asked, suppressing a shudder when Dean leaned up to mouth his way along his jawline, up towards his ear. He heard the human chuckle at the same time as a pair of clever fingers wormed their way underneath the back of his white dress shirt.

“Maybe later,” Dean said, a wet swipe of a tongue licking hotly over Castiel’s pulse, “but right now I have much more interesting things in mind.”

“Really?” Castiel mumbled, already losing himself in the sensation of Dean’s fingers skating over his skin. “Like what?”

“I have a few ideas…” Dean answered secretively. Castiel chuckled, and soon after, the metallic clink of a key hitting the floorboards got drowned out by a breathless moan, followed by the sound of rustling fabric.

 

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\

 

“Cas, over here.”

Dean motioned for Castiel to come closer to the counter where he was currently standing, hunched over to look through the glass and down at the vast collection of jewellery stored beneath the transparent counter top. Castiel obediently abandoned his study of a display case holding delicately inscribed pocketknives and watches, and quietly came to his partner’s side. As he did, the store clerk emerged from the back room and spotted them.

“Welcome, gentlemen,” he greeted with a smile that actually wasn’t half as sleazy as the one Dean had warned Castiel about. “Is there anything I can help you with?”

“Yeah, actually…” Dean straightened up and wiped his hands off on the sides of his jeans in a gesture that Cas recognized as nervous, even without the tell-tale tremble that shuddered through the bond between them as the words left Dean’s mouth. “We’re, uh, looking for a set of rings? Like, wedding rings…”

“Ah, I see.” The clerk’s face lit up as if that was the best news he had received all day. “Any special designs in mind?”

“No, no, just—” Dean threw a startled glance over his shoulder as the little bell above the door chimed, announcing the arrival of another customer. Dean’s posture squared slightly. “You know, simple,” he continued, his voice turning just a little bit lower. “Neat.”

“Of course, of course,” the clerk assured them. “Let me show you a few of our newest sets. Arrived just the other week.”

Castiel threw a quick look at the suit-clad man that had just entered the store as he and Dean were directed to another counter. He turned back around, however, when the clerk proceeded to pull out an entire drawer clad in dark blue velvet and set it upon the counter. The rings displayed on it glistened and gleamed brightly in the light from the spotlights above their heads.

Dean leaned over to look at them, and Castiel followed his example a split second after. There were a lot of beautiful rings to choose from – truly exquisite samples of human craftsmanship – but Castiel was disappointed to find that most of them were adorned with gems and diamonds in different shapes and sizes. Not that he disliked jewels, not at all. It was just that the rings did not at all appear ‘simple’ or ‘neat’ like Dean had requested. 

Perhaps those words meant different things in situations like this? Castiel didn’t think he wanted a ring with a stone, no matter how ‘neat’ this person considered it to be, but even more importantly, he was more than convinced that  _ Dean _ wouldn’t want one. At least not one that looked like these…

Glancing to the side, he caught his mate’s gaze, not even bothering to send his opinion through the mind link since he could already see his own thoughts reflected in the other’s eyes. Dean straightened up and cleared his throat, gesturing to the assortment of jewellery before them with a strained smile.

“They’re all very nice,” he started diplomatically and the clerk nodded wisely, making Dean lick his lips before continuing, “but I was thinking about something a bit more… I don’t know,  _ masculine _ ?”

“Oh, you want them  _ clean? _ ” the clerk exclaimed, bringing his fingertips up to his temple as if the thought had just appeared to him. “Of course, then you don’t want to look at  _ these _ , no, no, not at all. Just a moment…” He disappeared behind the counter, only to remerge a split second later. “Here we are, these are from what we call our ‘modern’ selection, a bit more what you had in mind, am I right?” 

Castiel glanced at the new drawer that had taken the old one’s place on the counter and relaxed, relieved to see that the amount of stones and gems had decreased dramatically. By his side, Dean’s posture loosened as well, as the new assortment of rings was apparently a lot more what the other had in mind.

“Yeah, these are good,” Dean said, nodding as he carefully picked up a thick, sharply chiselled ring in yellow gold to examine it closer before showing it to Cas. “What do you think? A bit too flashy, ain’t it?”

“Gold is usually a sign of purity,” Castiel said slowly, tilting his head to the side, “and even if we don’t take our joint pasts into the equation, I doubt that the color in itself would suit you.”

“Ah, so you’re the lucky groom then?” the clerk asked cheerfully, smoothly avoiding the other uncomfortable topic that Castiel’s statement hinted at. Dean looked up, blinking sharply. Castiel was sure that the question had not been asked with the intention to do any harm, but it appeared as if Dean was not so sure of the same. Cas could feel the rush of the other’s confusion, the initial fear, the indignant offense that followed, and finally the resolution that flashed through the bond in response to the other male’s words – all in less than a second’s time.

“Actually, we both are,” Dean said slowly. He reached out to grab hold of Castiel’s hand in a close to defiant grip and Castiel straightened up, sensing an odd feeling of pride work its way to the core of his human bones at Dean’s possessive gesture. For a moment, the man behind the counter looked at the two of them as if he truly saw them for the first time since they set foot inside the store. Then his eyes widened as his hands came up to wave around defensively.

“Oh dear, I’m sorry,” he pleaded. “It was not my intention to be rude. You see, it’s not unusual for men to bring along a friend when picking out engagement rings for their brides. I shouldn’t have assumed that would be the case with you as well, I’m so, so sorry.”

Dean blinked again, the hostility that had begun to build on the other side of the bond wavering with surprise, and Castiel realized with a start that this was not at all the reaction that the hunter had been expecting. He was about to ask Dean what kind of an answer he  _ had _ been expecting, when a rough voice from behind stopped him mid-thought.

“Disgusting.”

Dean’s mind immediately flared up like a gasoline-drenched bonfire, and both him and Castiel turned around to look at the man standing a few feet away, eyeing an engraved pocket flask. He was looking completely innocent in his presence, except for the fact that he was wrinkling his nose as if he smelt something rank in the air.

“Excuse me?” Dean asked, deceivingly polite as he took a single, slow step forward. The man put the flask down in what Castiel thought was an unnecessary nonchalant way, turned to look Dean straight in the eye.

“I said that it’s disgusting,” he repeated. “Two men should not pretend to live as man and woman. It’s unnatural.”

“Says who?” Dean demanded, still just as calm.

“Says God,” the man answered triumphantly, and Castiel scowled; the man’s obnoxious confidence on the matter making him feel nothing less than personally offended. On his left, however, Dean simply snorted as the corner of his lip pulled up in a tiny smirk.

“Yeah, I bet someone like you would know all there is to know about God, wouldn’t you?” he mused sweetly. The man let out a derisive huff of breath through his nose.

“What you’re doing is a sin,” he declared firmly. “And that smart mouth of yours will not be able to save you from the Lord’s judgment.”

Castiel didn’t realize that he had taken a step forward until he felt Dean’s hand splay across the front of his shirt, accompanied by a soothing touch through the bond inside his head.

_ Calm down, _ Dean whispered. Castiel’s fingers twitched, his eyes fixing on the man before them.

_ That’s my Father he’s talking about, _ he growled, sending the obnoxious old man a look that made him take a cautious step back. Sure, God may not have been the best parent lately, but he was still  _ God _ , and the number of people that Castiel allowed to talk badly about Him could be easily counted on five fingers. And the man standing before them right now was most certainly  _ not _ one of those five.

_ He’s not worth it, babe. Let me handle this. _

Dean’s hand left Castiel’s chest as he took another step forward, conveniently placing himself between the angel and their mutual opponent, and making sure he had the stranger’s full attention before he spoke anew.

“Now you listen up,” he said firmly. “I don’t need the consent of some dusty old dude on a cloud to know that I belong with this guy right here, but even if I  _ did _ , it still wouldn’t be any of your goddamn business _.  _ So if you have a problem with us buying rings from this store, then I suggest you leave and come back later when we’re done, before the man upstairs sends one of his little soldiers to deal with your bigoted ass. Do we understand each other?”

Cas straightened up, feelings his wings unfurl and stretch proudly on the other side of the veil that separated his true form from human perception in response to his partner’s words. Truth to be told, he had not ever felt the overwhelming need to smite anyone for being narrow minded or short sighted in their personal beliefs, but this man, for some reason, managed to ‘push his buttons’, as the saying went. Right now, his entire being was itching to give the guy a glimpse of his true form, just to teach him a lesson in humility.

_ Easy there, cowboy.  _ Dean smirked.  _ I don’t think the dude behind the counter is going to appreciate you burning out the eyes of his potential customers. _

“So what’s it gonna be?” Dean demanded out loud, his attention once more on the man before them. There was a moment of tense silence when the old man’s eyes flickered nervously from Dean’s steady gaze to Castiel’s barely concealed glare. Then he straightened up and turned around, walking stiffly out the door with a not-so-friendly comment about homosexuals muttered over his shoulder, just before the door closed with a muted thud. It wasn’t until the jingle from the bell above the doorframe had rung out that the tension in Dean’s shoulders eased up. He turned back to the counter, an apologetic bow to his head.

“Sorry about that,” he mumbled, but the clerk waved him off with a snort.

“Don’t worry about it,” he promised, sending a poisonous glance towards the door. “Even if he does come back, I can assure you that he’s only going to shop in here once.”

Dean looked up, once again with that confused crease on his brow that Castiel still didn’t understand the reason for. The clerk was obviously sincere about what he was telling them – Castiel didn’t even have to use his Grace to know that – so why did Dean always look so surprised whenever he was being friendly towards them?

To tell the truth, Dean had seemed more relaxed and well adjusted towards the other man’s hostility than he was with this, and the realization made Castiel feel downright  _ sad _ . In the past, Dean had once said that he worried about what people might say about them, but Castiel had assumed that he had been referring to people he  _ knew _ . That a complete stranger would hold such power over Dean’s opinion of himself was downright frightening, and Castiel hoped that this incident had not given Dean second thoughts about what they were doing here.

_ Don’t, _ he heard Dean’s voice mumble inside his head, and Cas instinctively tried to pull his thoughts back when he realized that he had been thinking them a bit louder than he had intended. Dean, however, wouldn’t let him, catching the bond and pulling it tight, forcing him to come back with a gentle tug.

_ I’m not having second thoughts about anything, Cas, _ he whispered firmly,  _ so don’t think stuff like that, okay? _

Castiel nodded, just a barely-there movement towards the floor, and then Dean leaned in and pressed a soft kiss to his lips. It was quick and chaste, but with an insistency that burned straight through the mind link and lit Castiel’s very grace on fire.

When they pulled apart, the clerk was fiddling with something over by the register, but there was a light crook at the corner of his mouth that he couldn’t hide. That secretive little smile made Castiel’s cheeks flush for reasons he couldn’t even begin to explain.

Trying to divert his thoughts from the fact that Dean just kissed him, in  _ public _ , he began fidgeting with the jewelleries still on the tray before him. He picked up a ring at random, staring down at it for almost a full minute without really registering what it looked like before he heard Dean give a little whistle next to his shoulder.

“Wow, you really know how to pick ’em, don’t you?”

Castiel blinked, looking down at the silvery ring lying in the palm of his hand. A black band of polished metal ran along the middle of the ring and all the way around, smooth and shiny enough to resemble the dark surface of a mirror.

“Oh, that one’s a beauty,” the clerk said, who had turned around to look at the ring that had caught Dean’s attention. “It’s made of titanium and tungsten, and – may I? – if you look here…” He reached over and picked up another, similar ring from the tray next to the empty space where the first ring had been. “The mate to that ring is mirrored, putting the tungsten at the bottom and the band in titanium. Also, the inside of each ring can be decorated with a thin layer of either material, so when we make the inscriptions, we punch the letters straight through the added layer so that they come out either black or metal, depending on the base of the ring.”

“Really?” Dean asked, taking the first ring when Castiel offered it to him for a closer look.

“Oh, yes. It looks amazing.”

Dean turned the ring over in his hand.

“This… tungsten thing,” he asked, “is it durable? I mean, I don’t want it to crack and fall apart or anything.”

“You can wear it for a lifetime and it will barely scratch,” the clerk announced proudly. “And neither of the metals are corrosive, so you’ll never have to worry about the rings getting stained or tarnished from sweat or chlorine.”

“That sounds almost too good to be true,” Dean commented, looking at the ring warily. “I guess that means it’s pretty expensive, huh?”

“Actually, the price doesn’t differ that much from our noble metal rings,” the man said. “The only extra cost, should you chose it, is the band I mentioned on the inside of the rings for the inscriptions. It means we have to make a bit of a size adjustment to the rings, which requires some additional material, but other than that it’s basically the same. Unless you want us to make an overly complicated inscription?” he added carefully.

“That depends…” Dean said thoughtfully, weighing the ring in his hand. “What kind of inscriptions do you do?” 

“Practically anything,” the clerk assured him, “within reason, of course. We’ve actually had a couple that wanted their names scripted in Elvish. You know, like in the Lord of the Rings movies? I must say, it turned out far better than I first thought it would.”

“So it doesn’t have to be roman letters?”

“Oh, no, we can do practically anything.”

“Anything, huh?” Dean mumbled. The ring flashed once more in the palm of his hand as he turned to look at Cas.

“What do you think?” he asked, and Castiel narrowed his eyes, evaluating the band in the human’s hand.

“I like it,” he decided, nodding towards the darker of the two rings still being held by the clerk. “But you get to wear that one.”

Dean smirked, and Castiel suspected that Dean had secretly been hoping for him to say that. Black had always looked good on Dean…

“Do you want any of that extra stuff?” Dean murmured. “The whole extra metal and fancy letters deal?”

“Do you?” Castiel asked back and Dean shrugged, pursing his lips.

“Well, I mean, why not?” he said,  _ almost _ succeeding in making it sound like he didn’t care. “It’s not like we buy jewellery on a regular basis.”

“But do you  _ want _ it?” Castiel pressed on. Dean made an unidentifiable noise in the back of his throat.

“It would probably look nice…” he squirmed, looking at the ring like a starved dog looking at a steak. “Make it a bit more special, you know?”

“Then we’ll take the extra stuff,” Cas decided. Behind the counter, the clerk looked as if he had just won the world’s biggest lottery.

“Excellent,” he smiled. “Have you thought about what you would like for your inscriptions? Your names? A quote, maybe?”

“Actually,” Castiel stepped forward, pulling out a piece of paper from the pocket of his trench coach, “Would something like this be possible?”

He flattened the paper out over the counter and turned it to let the clerk have a proper look at the design. After a few seconds of careful study, the clerk nodded.

“Absolutely. This should be no problem at all.” 

 

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\

 

The light sifting in through the curtains of their bedroom was soft, the moon outside having just begun a new crescent. Castiel was lying on his back on the bed, wedged comfortably in the space between Dean’s chest and right arm. Dean was resting his chin on top of the angel’s head, watching as Cas slowly turned the silver and black ring on his left hand back and forth, seemingly lost in thought. 

His fingers moved over the band, twisting it round and round, and Dean was starting to fear that his husband would end up wearing the inscription on the inside of the ring down before he even had the chance to grow accustomed to it…

To be honest, it wasn’t much of an inscription. It was just the Enochian initial for “D”, mirrored by the letter “C” that could be found punched into the band on Dean’s own finger. Simple and neat, without too much fuss, although, Dean had to admit that he liked the way the silvery symbol for Cas’ name shone out through the surface of the tungsten when he took it off to look at it. 

It reminded him of that shiny spot in the corner of his mind where the angel’s presence gleamed through the darkness at him, like a little beacon of liquid light, for his knowledge only. He had never said it out loud, of course, but he could tell by the amused and somewhat possessive pride that had sparked through the bond the moment the metaphor had gone through his head, that Castiel knew the reason for his fascination with it.

It had been Bobby’s idea – good old, practical Bobby – to add a tracking spell to the rings. Both Dean and Cas had been a bit stumped by the suggestion at first, because why would they need a tracking spell when they had the bond inside their heads? Bobby had looked at them as if they were the two biggest idjits on the face of the planet.

“And what about when either of you gets your lights knocked out?” he had snorted. “Can’t pull off that neat little telepathy trick when you’re unconscious, can ya?”

Well, they had to admit that he had a point with that one. Being knocked unconscious was an undisputable threat in their profession, and having a backup plan to be able to locate one another was never a bad thing.

The spell was done quicker than Dean had expected, as Castiel put his wings to good use and gathered all the ingredients in less than ten minutes. Afterwards, the rings had not felt any different when they put them on, and they had decided to put them to the test by letting Dean go outside into the auto shop while Castiel remained indoors. 

When Dean had said the word that triggered the effects of the spell, he had felt a distinctive and very insistent  _ yank _ in his left ring finger, as if the ring itself was trying to urge him to come along. Moving away from the house in any direction had spread the tugging sensation all the way up to his elbow until it felt almost numb, but had immediately lessened once he took a step across the yard towards the back porch of the house. 

It was an odd feeling. Like having a very determined five year old wrapped around your entire arm, but the spell seemed to be working just fine, and that was all that mattered. He just hoped that activating the spell while Castiel was running errands in, let’s say Africa, wouldn’t earn him a dislocated shoulder or worse. He also sincerely hoped that he would never have to find out if that was the case.

But right now, Castiel was lying safely on his shoulder, eyes half lidded as he studied the ring on his hand, an almost marvelling look in the depths of that soft, blue gaze. Dean smiled, the simple joy of feeling the bulk of the other’s body press in against his enough to make his heart swell.

“Hey…” he mumbled while pressing his lips to the top of Castiel’s head in a sort of half snuggled kiss. “What’re you thinking about?”

“Sjôjos,” Castiel gruffed back and Dean’s eyebrows shot up.

“What?” he chuckled and Castiel blinked, the fog clearing from his eyes when his brain caught up with what he had just said.

“Oh… I was just thinking about you and— My mind must have wandered, I’m sorry.”

“Do I even want to know how thinking of me could progress into thinking about Japanese ghost-monsters?” Dean asked carefully.

“The rings,” Castiel clarified. “I was thinking about how I would be able to defeat it and save you, should you ever be attacked by one.”

“You don’t think I would be able to take care of that myself?” Dean pointed out. “I  _ have _ dealt with one of those before, you know.”

“Yes, but this time you would be unconscious, of course,” Cas explained, nodding as if to underline the suggestion as a fact, and Dean rolled his eyes to the ceiling with an amused grin.

“I see,” he mused. “And then of course, you’ll come along, chug down a liquor store and rescue me, I take it?”

“That would be the best approach, I think,” Castiel agreed, not catching the amused teasing in Dean’s voice. Then he scowled, as if an unpleasant thought had just occurred to him. 

“But I’m afraid that drinking a liquor store would also take an unnecessarily large amount of time,” he muttered to himself. Dean snickered as he rolled over onto his side to sling a leg over Castiel’s thigh and nestle his foot underneath his right knee.

“So drink half,” he suggested. “You don’t need to be completely smashed in order to see it, just tipsy.”

Castiel nodded again, thinking the new approach over.

“Half would be acceptable,” he decided, and Dean hummed approvingly while drawing a lazy pattern with his finger over the edge of Cas’ collarbone.

“And then what?” he asked with a barely hidden smirk. 

“And then what… what?” Castiel repeated, the second ‘what’ coming out more than just a bit confused as he tilted his head up, trying to catch a glimpse of Dean’s face.

“After you’ve rescued me,” Dean explained patiently. “Then what do you do?”

“Well I—” Castiel cut himself off, and Dean could almost hear the sound of the angel’s frown in the dark. “I don’t really know,” he admitted, “I never got that far.”

“You don’t?” Dean smiled, nudging his nose closer to press a kiss against the other’s neck just below his ear, letting his tongue dart out in a light tease that made Castiel sigh and tip his head sideways to allow him more access.

“Actually…” A soft moan slipped between the angel’s lips when Dean moved up to nip at the top of his ear. “I think I do…” he confessed. Dean hummed, sliding his hand across the angel’s abs.

“That’s what I thought,” he smirked, fingers moving to trail down to the edge of the other’s hip, dipping further to press the palm of his hand against the evidence of the angel’s sudden insight. 

It didn’t take long before Castiel had his face pressed in against Dean’s clavicle, small twitches making his entire body spasm and causing him to tilt his hips against Dean’s hand in search of friction with every new stroke of Dean’s fingertips. 

One particularly well timed move, along with a rough thrust of Castiel’s hips, had him pushing against Dean’s neck to muffle a loud groan that would have been more than enough to wake the entire house, had it gone by unguarded.

Dean chuckled as he let the hand that had been teasing Castiel’s cock move up to the angel’s thigh instead, pulling and dragging Cas over onto his side in order to let his erection slot up with the one already straining against Dean’s own stomach.

“So loud…” he scolded teasingly, but Castiel just nodded, a breathless wince pressing into the slope of Dean’s neck when Dean rolled his hips suggestively. 

“Hey,” Dean mumbled, sliding further down the mattress in order to nip against the angel’s now bared lips. “How about you pull that little party trick of yours and give us some privacy?” he suggested, thrusting forward once more to emphasize the urgency of the matter.

Castiel didn’t answer, a breathy little whine the only noise escaping him, and Dean was about to repeat his request when realization hit and he pulled back with his eyes closed, taking a deep, controlled breath before he propped himself up on one arm to look down at the male below him.

“You already have, haven’t you?” he asked, smirking, and Castiel nodded, hands palming at the human’s arms and shoulders to make him lie back down.

“A few minutes ago,” he murmured, and he let out another noise of frustration when Dean still didn’t make any attempt to come back. Dean snorted, lips parting in a wide grin.

“I knew there was a reason I married you,” he chuckled triumphantly, barely managing to catch himself against the mattress when Castiel decided that he had been kept waiting long enough and used his highly unfair advantage of celestial strength to yank the human back down to kiss him. Dean laughed, but his laughter was quickly smothered by determined angel kisses, and by the time the whisper of wings filled the space above them, the sounds falling from his lips were forming a completely different tune. 

Dean groaned when Castiel’s hand moved the covers aside to grasp around him, and the black metal on Dean’s left ring finger blended with dark feathers almost seamlessly in the dusk as he fisted his hands in whatever he could reach. He watched as the telltale gleam of Castiel’s own ring moved against the dark flush of his skin, reflecting the light from the moon outside like a mirror of pure silver. 

They didn’t speak, though the bond between them rippled and pulsed with everything neither of them would ever demand to hear said out loud. Here, where the world outside didn’t matter and the very air in their lungs felt like it was on fire, putting such emotions into words would only have appeared trivial in comparison. 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And thus, the story reaches its sad (or happy?), yet inevitable end. But don't worry, there's still a bonus chapter waiting for you all, so make sure to stick around,okay? ;)
> 
> Now, to all of you who have commented on this story, who've left kudos or just simply took the time out of your day to read it; THANK YOU SO VERY, VERY MUCH.  
> I love you to pieces, every single one of you. You have been amazing, Chuck knows I would never be able to write without you guys. You are the best, I cannot describe how happy you have made me, and I thank you all from the bottom of my soul for showing me such love throughout this adventure. I have truly come to consider most of you my friends, and I sincerely hope that you guys will stick around in the future as well, because writing just wouldn't be the same without you <3\. Sincerely, _thank you._
> 
> My complete, undying and devoted love to you all!


	19. Bonus Chapter

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This bonus chapter started out as a (very yummy) request on Tumblr, and one that I happily wanted to write.
> 
> The person who made the request has since then not only helped me Beta this entire fic, but has also become someone I regard as a close friend. I know we don't talk much due to the time difference, but when we do, it's always a pleasure. Thank you so much for helping me with this, darling, you know I wouldn't have been able to do this without you <3
> 
> I'd also want to say thank you the second person who helped me Beta this fic, but who had to stop because of personal reasons halfway through. You did a great job, honey, and I appreciate every single minute you wanted to put into this monstrosity of mine. I wish you all the best of luck in the future, and you're welcome to write me at any time <3
> 
> (I'm not putting either of your names in here at the moment, because I'm not sure if you want me to. So just let me know and I'll add those in later, should you want it <3 )
> 
> Now. Onto the bonus chapter! I hope you guys will enjoy it ;)

 

Castiel was pacing.

Trudging back and forth across the rug in Bobby’s study, he anxiously twisted the silver ring upon his left hand while focusing his attention on the quiet bond inside his head. 

It had been quiet for almost two days, and Castiel was getting worried. Seriously worried.

“Hey, halo-boy.”

Castiel turned around, facing the doorway to the kitchen in which Bobby and Sam were sitting by the kitchen table, looking back at him.

“You’re gonna wear a hole in my carpet if you keep that up, you know,” Bobby pointed out grumpily. Castiel threw a quick, guilty glance at his feet before taking a quiet, remorseful step off the rug.

“Cas. Dude.” Sam let out a low chuckle, looking up from behind his laptop. “Dean’s only been gone since yesterday morning. Relax.”

“I can’t,” Castiel muttered, going back to twisting his ring. “It’s too quiet. Even if Dean’s busy, it shouldn’t be this silent.” 

“You know how Dean gets,” Sam snorted. “He goes into a car shop and he just zones out. He’ll get back to you once he has the parts he need, you’ll see.”

Castiel pursed his lips, but he didn’t answer.

Truth was, Dean had already gotten back to him last night when Cas had called for him through the bond. They had spoken, but Dean’s mind had felt closed and distracted, and the conversation had not lasted very long. This morning, Castiel had barely been able to get any response out of him at all, and now the bond had closed completely. 

He felt as if Dean was avoiding him, and it made him nervous.

“Sit down,” Sam said, gesturing to the chair next to him. “You’ll just rev yourself up more from pacing around like that.”   
“Thanks, Sam, but I really—”

_ Cas, you there? _

_ Yes, what’s wrong? _

“Looks like someone got a call,” Bobby snickered, but Castiel ignored him in favour of turning his attention inwards, to where Dean’s mind was now smiling at him.

_ Nothing’s wrong, Cas, I just need to talk to you. Can you get here? _

_ Where is ‘here’?  _ Castiel frowned, and Dean sent him an image of a hotel lobby and an address, along with an insistent sensation of urgency.

_ I thought you went to Sioux City,  _ Castiel said slowly. _ What are you doing in Omaha?  _

_ You'll see, _ Dean grinned, the human side of the bond turning a beaming shade of pleased.  _ Just get your ass over here. Room 137. Knock on the door when you get here and then wait for me to open it for you. And step on it. _

The bond closed, leaving only a fading shimmer of Dean's sparkling mirth behind.

The frown on Castiel's brow deepened, and he turned towards the other two men by the kitchen table, who were both looking at him expectantly.

“I have to go,” he excused himself. He turned away, but he still managed to catch the little smirk tugging at the corner of Sam's lip before the bronzed number ‘137’ appeared right in front of his face.

Cas looked down at his shoes and the dark red carpet that covered the floor, following it with his eyes down the hallway.

It was a nice establishment. Not a motel, which usually would have been Dean's first choice of lodging, but an actual  _ hotel _ , with paintings on the walls that looked as if they had been selected with the exclusive purpose of  _ decorating _ ; not covering up questionable stains on the wallpaper. 

What was Dean doing here by himself? 

He looked back at the door, and fulfilling his bondmate’s wish, he then raised his hand and knocked. No sound came from inside the room, and so Castiel knocked again, and waited. The bond was still silent, and he couldn’t sense Dean anywhere nearby. 

Had he gotten it wrong? Was he in the wrong place? He was already contemplating whether or not he should knock a third time when the door suddenly cracked open, revealing part of Dean’s familiar grin in the narrow space between the door and doorframe.

Castiel expected some sort of explanation, or at least a greeting, but instead the first thing Dean said to him was:

“You didn’t hear me?”

Castiel frowned, shaking his head slowly.

“I didn’t hear anything.”

“You sure?” Dean prompted. “Nothing at all? You didn’t hear me say the door was open or anything like that?”

“I’m sure.” Castiel narrowed his eyes at his boyfriend. “Is everything alright?”

“Yeah, everything’s fine.”   
Castiel gave the bond a tentative push, and if he could have described the action the bond made in return, he would have been willing to bet his left wing that Dean actually  _ winked  _ at him.

“Why don’t you come on in?” Dean asked, stepping aside with an inviting tilt of his head, and Cas, still squinting, warily stepped over the threshold and into the room.

The first thing he noticed was the bed. And really, how could he not, when it was basically the only piece of furniture in the room? It was wide enough to cover almost the entire width of the inner wall, and had a black metal frame all around it. The headboard, also made of metal, was tall enough to reach halfway to the ceiling, and had thick, sturdy bars spanning across the full width of the mattress.

On the right side of the bed, along the wall opposite from the door, was a small table upon which stood a chromed ice bucket, filled to the brim with, well, ice. Buried in the ice were six bottles of beer, necks sticking up and sparkling with condensation in the dimmed light of the room.

It was midday, but the curtains had been completely closed, leaving the room in dusk. It was illuminated only by the two wall mounted lamps over the bedside tables, and a discreet light in the room's opposite corner.

The room’s interior, however, was not what Castiel's attention focused upon.

Every wall, every single inch and crevasse of the room, was covered in wards. Castiel could see wards for demons, tulpas, angels, reapers, and many, many more. There were spells used for hiding, runes for concealment, and other, even more complicated patterns that Castiel couldn’t discern from the distance he was standing at. 

He couldn't see the windows hidden behind the curtains, but when he threw a glance over his shoulder, he could see the thick rope of salt that lined the inside of the now closed door, making him suspect that the windows had already undergone the same treatment. He also noticed the big, lone ward that had been painted on the inside of the door, containing the enochian letters for his own name; an exception sigil. Which explained why Castiel was not currently being strewn across the galaxy in tiny, tiny pieces for standing at the centre of so many anti-supernatural patterns all at once.

The bond was practically crackling with barely contained giddiness from Dean's direction, as if Dean was waiting for Cas to show some sort of reaction. Castiel felt, rather than heard, his mate approach him from behind, and then one of Dean's arms slowly draped over the top of Castiel’s shoulder, embracing him, while Dean pressed a soft, lingering kiss against the back of his neck. 

“Do you like it?” he asked quietly, mouthing the words over Castiel’s skin. “I've been working in it since last night.”

Castiel licked his lips, trying his best to put the different, confusing pieces together, but failing.

“I'm… afraid I don't understand?” he asked hesitantly, suppressing a shiver when Dean let out a deep chuckle, warm breath puffing against his skin. 

“I figured that I should get this place secured and hidden properly before I invited you over,” he confessed. “It would be very awkward if someone were to… interrupt.”

“Interrupt what?”

There was a faint clinking noise, and when Castiel turned his head to look, he was faced with the sight of a pair of handcuffs. They dangled nonchalantly from the tip of Dean's extended index finger, held out right next to Castiel's head.

“Happy six month anniversary, angel.”

Castiel stared at the cuffs, his mouth suddenly dry. The sheen from the metal in front of him made it clear that the handcuffs were made of silver, not steel. Whatever doubts Castiel might have had about their purpose were washed away when his eyes fell on the enochian sigils that had been carefully etched into the surface of the rivets.

He swallowed thickly.

“Where did you get those?” he whispered hoarsely.

“Wasn't easy,” Dean purred. “Had to make most of them myself. You know what they are?”

Cas nodded. He knew exactly what those cuffs were, and more importantly, what they were used for...

Dean reeled the cuffs back in. Castiel followed them with his eyes, turning around to face the other man just as Dean tucked the silver links into the back pocket of his jeans.

“Is this the reason you put all these wards up?” he asked, and Dean's secretive smile widened.

“Well,” he said, shrugging. “If I'm gonna handcuff my husband's mojo away, I want to make sure the room’s warded against every possible, _ and impossible _ thing that might want to take advantage of that. Not including myself, of course.” He took a step forward, running his fingers up the lapel of Castiel's trench coat. “I even put up a sound barrier. That's why you couldn't hear me shouting before. I figured I should test it out before… well, before we give the other guests a reason to complain, if you catch my drift?” 

“That's very thoughtful of you.” Castiel felt his stomach jolt, the insinuation of Dean's words rushing up his spine like iced fire.

“I’m a very thoughtful person,” Dean mused, leaning in, lips a mere hair's width away from Castiel's own when Castiel suddenly recalled something. 

“Anniversary?” he asked, pulling back to stare at Dean’s face.

“Yeah.” Dean deflated a little, having missed out in his kiss, but when he spotted the dumbstruck look on Castiel's face, his smile returned. 

“It's been six months since this…” He tapped gently at Castiel’s temple with his finger before repeating the action on his own head.

_ And this…  _  he continued inside Castiel’s head.

“… got joined together in holy matrimony. Or whatever weird ass name you guys call it.”

“ _ Aisro de Poala _ ,” Castiel offered absentmindedly, too busy trying to count days inside his head to feel disappointed that Dean didn’t remember the proper word.

“Alright, six months and two weeks,” Dean waved, catching on to Castiel's calculations through the bond. “I know I'm a few days off, but they didn't have the room available until now.”

“You wanted this room in particular?” Castiel looked around, confused. “Why?”

Inside his head, Castiel felt the bond send out a low, throbbing pulse of heat when Dean's lips moved in to brush against his, confident smirk firmly in place. 

“Because this is the only decent hotel room in the state where you can handcuff someone to the headboard of the bed,” he drawled lazily. This time, Castiel couldn't stop the shiver that went through his body at the sound of his spouse's voice.

“How long did you plan this?” he asked quietly. Again, Dean shrugged.

“Not long. Believe it or not, this is me improvising.”

Castiel frowned. Granted, his brain was still processing the news of the situation, but he  _ still  _ felt as if he was missing something important. 

“I didn't realize this was something you wanted to celebrate,” he confessed, feeling guilt claw at the excitement coiling tight in his gut. “Had I known, I could have—”

“Oh, no, no, no.” Dean cut him off, waving a reprimanding finger in front of Castiel's face. “You don't get to be all prissy because you didn't think of this first. I wanted to do this, and I did. Take the hint, dude.”

Castiel shut his mouth, ignoring the victorious surge Dean's mind made as he did so. Cas turned his head, looking at the room, taking in the interior, the size of the bed. The metal headboard.

“So you got us a hotel room,” he said slowly, a calculated edge to his words. “Just so that you could have your way with me without having to spray sigils all over our bedroom at Bobby’s house?”

Dean's face dropped, and the pulsing heat of the bond came to a screeching halt, replaced by a sudden dread when Castiel turned to look Dean dead in the eyes. Nonetheless, before Dean could say anything — through the bond or otherwise — Castiel had already grabbed hold of the collar of Dean's t-shirt and pulled him in, smashing their lips together while sending his unabashed approval through the bond with such force it made Dean physically stumble.

The response was a surprised hum from Dean, vibrating through both throat and bond simultaneously as Dean brought both hands up to catch himself against the front of Castiel's shirt.

_ You dick _ , he muttered, the attempted scolding tone marred by the relief shining through Dean's thoughts.  _ I actually thought you got upset. _

_ You're going to have to try a lot harder in order to accomplish that, beloved. _

_ Don't get smug _ , Dean warned, nipping at Castiel's bottom lip.  _ Don't forget who's getting handcuffed tonight. _

Castiel moaned, because no, he had not forgotten; far from it.

Dean's hands dragged over the span of Castiel's chest, tugging the trenchcoat off to let it pile around their feet, before going to work on the buttons of Castiel's shirt. The garment came open easy, the trick of popping those once so infuriating buttons now a well-practiced movement within the flick of Dean's wrist.

Castiel chased after Dean's lips when they left his, mourning their warmth during the short amount of time it took for Dean to relocate them to Castiel's neck instead.

Castiel's hands grappled for and found Dean's waist when Dean began to suckle at his pulse, just below Castiel's ear. It was one of Castiel's weak spots, and Dean was perfectly aware. He had long since perfected the art of turning Cas into a gasping heap of shivering arousal, just by the slow drag of a tongue, or hint of teeth to that particular area. 

Castiel, of course, wouldn't dream of complaining about it.

He rocked his body against Dean’s, fingers clutching around the fabric of the other’s clothes when Dean abandoned his neck in favor of moving lower.

Cas tipped his head back, sighing when Dean started licking and nipping his way down his throat and jugular, biting down loosely on Castiel's collarbone in passing while he slid the open shirt off his shoulders.

“You already know what I want from you,” Dean breathed against his chest, lips sliding across skin as he dipped his head even lower to mouth at the soft lines of Castiel's abs. “Bring them out.”

Castiel hummed. He was already reaching through the physical barrier of his own body to do just that. His wings unfurled behind his back, arching high like shadows growing thicker until the feathers were solid enough to reflect the glow from the room’s dim lights.

Dean looked up, and Castiel felt the sharp drag of a breath rush across his skin when Dean inhaled at the sight. Dean’s knees hit the floor by Castiel’s feet, and his hands, rough and calloused, slid down Castiel’s sides, down the length of his legs to help Cas rid himself off his shoes.

Castiel smiled, steadying himself with a grip on Dean’s shoulder as he raised first one leg and then the other, wings spreading slightly to help keep his balance. Once the shoes were gone, Dean made quick work of Castiel’s dark slacks, dropping both them and the boxers underneath to the floor, where Cas kicked them off completely, still with his hand wrapped around the back of Dean’s neck.

Dean’s mouth latched onto the inside of Castiel’s thigh, teeth grazing the soft skin there, and Castiel could feel the ridge of his alula puff up from that shallow touch alone. He had always loved Dean’s mouth; everything from the fullness of the lips to the crude language which sometimes came pouring out from it. He relished in the feel of Dean’s lips inching up, smoothing over the curve of his hips before turning inwards, closer to the spot where Castiel’s erection had begun to swell, thick and heavy between his legs. 

The swipe of a tongue came dangerously close to the base of him, and Castiel’s wings let out a frustrated rustle, making Dean moan breathlessly. The color of the bond instantly turned a molten, deep shade of red as a flash of blatant arousal spiked through it.

“Fuck, I’ve missed that sound…” Dean whispered as he let his hands smooth up the back of Castiel’s thighs. Castiel moved his fingers up from its perch on Dean’s shoulder to card them through his hair, another ripple of excitement travelling through his body.

His breathing had already become slightly laboured, and he had a very hard time resisting the urge to rock his hips forward and towards Dean’s mouth when Dean’s hands grabbed around his backside. Feathers quivered, sending a jolt through his body at the same time as Dean moved in to kiss at the soft skin at the junction between Castiel’s pelvis and thigh, and the fingers in Dean’s hair tightened.

Dean let out a warning growl, his own hand clamping down around Castiel’s wrist in retribution, making him let go.

“Get on the bed,” Dean ordered, and Castiel obeyed, even though he was reluctant to leave the alluring heat of Dean’s mouth behind. His primary feathers dragged over the covers as he positioned himself on his back on the middle of the mattress. He reached under the bedspread and snatched a pillow to prop his back up, relieving the pressure put on the joints of his wings as he lay down.

He then watched as Dean, who was still fully dressed, kicked off his own shoes, dragged the t-shirt over his head, and then climbed onto the bed after him.

“So… just to clarify,” Dean said, spreading fluttering kisses up Castiel’s thighs, hip and torso as he carefully crawled over him on all fours, taking special care not to accidentally put his weight on any of Castiel’s feathers. “You really do know what those cuffs are for?”

Castiel sat up, bracing himself on his elbow and swallowed, breathing in deeply.

“They’re an old form of Enochian magic, passed down to the humans  John Dee and Edward Kelley during the sixteenth century,” he began. “It was originally an incantation used to bind an angel to its respective watchtower during communication rituals. To allow for interaction between humans and angels that could not take place in dreams or visions.” He licked his lips, looking up at Dean, meeting his gaze.

“You put those on me, and my angelic powers will become tethered within my vessel. I won't be able to use them, or alter my grace, nor escape the enchanted silver keeping me bound. I’ll be helpless.”

“And how do you feel about that?” Dean asked quietly.

Castiel’s wings shuddered, the dry whisper of feathers whispering through the air.

“Excited,” he admitted. “Maybe… slightly nervous.”

“Not scared?”

“No.” Castiel shook his head, and he opened up the bond wider, sending his trust through the link along with a brush of fingers down Dean’s cheek. “Not with you.”

Something in Dean’s eyes flickered; a hint of something that Castiel, even before they had the bond, had come to learn was Dean attempting to hide how bashful he felt about something. He did a good job of it, but the bond still blushed with the same bright pink color Dean so seldom allowed to tint his cheeks, and Castiel couldn’t help but smile fondly at the sentiment.

“Shut up,” Dean muttered, the blush of the bond darkening slightly before shifting from pink to passionate red when Dean reached into his back pocket, pulling the cuffs out.

“You remember what I told you that one time?” he asked, studying the cuffs thoughtfully before looking back at Castiel. “About chaining you to a bed and taking my time with you? About finding all your sweet spots… Making you beg for me?”

Castiel nodded. He did remember. When it came to Dean, he remembered everything.

Dean’s eyes went up to look him in the eye, gaze clear and concerned as he dangled the handcuffs from the tip of his fingers.

“You won't be able to break free from these,” he said seriously. “But that doesn’t mean that I won’t listen to you if you change your mind. You want out, you let me know first thing, alright?”

“Alright,” Castiel answered obediently.

“Let me know what you’re feeling. Stay  _ here _ .” Dean tapped his temple, gesturing to the bond inside his head. “I’ll listen.”

Castiel nodded again, and added,  _ Of course. _

“Good.” Dean took the cuffs and held them out. “Are you ready?”

“Yes.”

Castiel held out his own arm, and Dean took his time to kiss each and every tip of his fingers before wrapping the silver rivets around his wrist. The moment he did, the cuff sealed itself shut, melting together into one single loop without leaving as much as a crease behind in the smooth silver.

The effect was immediate, and Castiel’s head whirled when he felt his grace slam tight inside his body. He blinked, slumping down heavily against the pillow behind his back.

_ Cas? Cas, are you okay? _

Dean’s worry clouded the bond, almost smothering it, but Cas managed to push through, somehow.

_ I’m fine, I’m— I just wasn’t expecting the effect to take place so quickly. _

Dean’s mind, nauseous with anxiety, drained away, leaving a flutter of concern skating the edges of Castiel’s mind.

_ I didn’t know that would happen, I swear. Shit, man, I’m sorry, I really didn’t—  _

“I’m  _ fine _ , Dean,” Castiel repeated, out loud, glancing up at his captive wrist where the space in between the rivets and his skin was now lined with a faint, blue glow. The cuff hovered, untouched and innocent around the base of his hand, like a silvery little halo, and after a few experimental pulls, Castiel noticed that no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t get the rivets to actually touch his wrists. 

The investigational movement of his arm was minuscule, yet it still managed to make him feel close to lightheaded. He shook his head in an attempt to clear the fog inside it, but stopped in abrupt surprise when he realized what a completely and utterly  _ human  _ gesture it was. 

“Put the other on,” he rasped, holding out his remaining free arm for Dean to take. “Please.”

Dean was still suspicious, but he did what Castiel requested nonetheless. Castiel brought both his arms up, allowing Dean to thread the chain through the gaps in the headboard before attaching the second loop around Castiel’s other wrist.

This time, as the surge of lightheadedness swept through him, Castiel barely managed to hold back a groan. It cleared almost immediately, but in its wake, he felt as if his skin had shrunk at least an entire size around him. He was suddenly painfully aware of the way the sheets scratched against his skin, of the way Dean’s body practically radiated with heat, right next to his thigh, and he had never before been this aware of the hot,  _ heavy  _ sense of arousal, curling deep in the pit of his stomach.

Human. 

That’s how he felt.

He closed his eyes in an attempt to steady his breathing. He could feel Dean’s concern begin to rise, and he flickered a hasty reassurance through the bond, which – considering Castiel’s now obvious lack of grace control – thankfully seemed to work just as well as before.

Probably, he realized, because Dean was the one holding the channel open, and it struck Castiel how he was indeed now completely at Dean’s mercy.

“This is very…” He swallowed, searching for the word. “Intense.”

“Is it still good?” Dean asked, his hand reaching out to smooth down the centre of Castiel’s chest, and Castiel literally gasped so sharply his ears rang with the sound of it.

Dean’s hand. Dear mercy, his  _ hand…! _

It was new. Warmer, more firm and carried more weight. The calluses on Dean’s palm scraped against his skin, sending delicious shivers through him like sparks of electricity.

He sucked down air into his lungs when the touch abruptly left his body, letting it back out with a violent shudder that caused the feathers of his wings to rise like ripples on water.

“Shit…” Dean breathed. Castiel realized, with a sense of looking down at himself from the outside — from Dean — that he had closed his eyes. He squinted them open, peering up at the other man, who in turn was staring down at him with a confused frown on his brow. Castiel was grateful when Dean pushed in against his consciousness, sparing him the effort of trying to explain as Dean examined what had just happened from Castiel’s point of view. 

“Wow,” Dean said, eyes wide as the sensations registered inside his own brain. “You’re one sensitive birdie, aren’t you?”

“The cuffs…” Castiel closed his eyes, groaning. “I knew they would make things feel different, but… I didn’t think they would make me feel  _ more _ .”

“Guess your body registers things a bit differently without your grace wrapped around it, huh?”

“That seems to be the gist of the situation, yes,” he grated. “I believe I will get used to it eventually, I just— I just need a moment.”

Castiel felt the mattress shift when Dean moved, and he flinched, eyes shooting open.

“Woah, woah, I’m not gonna touch you,” Dean promised, holding his hands up in reassurance. “I just wanna try something.”

Hands still up, Dean leaned down, and Castiel sucked in a sharp breath through his teeth when Dean puckered his lips and blew air across the skin of his stomach.

“Looks like this will be even more fun than I thought,” Dean grinned, looking up at Cas from his spot, approximately less than a tongue’s length away from Castiel’s hip. The obvious lack of distance between the two made Castiel’s heart beat so fast it almost hurt.

“I don’t think you’d be able to hold back on me right now, even if you wanted to,” Dean added, and Cas let out a silent, relieved breath when the other sat up straight again, lips and tongue on a reassuring distance from the rest of his body.

“So…” Dean said, smirking as his eyes raked down the lines of Castiel’s exposed frame. “Where should we start? How about...” He glanced up at the headboard rising behind Castiel’s body. “… we start at the very top and work our way down?”

Without waiting for an answer, he began to crawl higher onto the bed, slowly manoeuvring himself until he was kneeling right next to Castiel’s torso. Meanwhile, Castiel was more than painfully aware of how close the other man was to the secondary and tertial feathers on the inside of his right wing as he did so. Eyes anxiously tracing each and every movement of Dean’s hands, he couldn’t help but think that considering what a simple touch to his skin had felt like, a similar touch to his wings would surely cause him to black out completely. 

He watched as Dean leaned in to loom over him, one hand against the headboard to steady himself while the other brushed a soothing stroke down the top of Castiel’s curled fingers. The touch was featherlight, barely more than a whisper of skin on skin, yet Castiel still had to force himself not to flinch violently from the contact.

“Easy…” Dean cooed, a single finger spreading electricity in its wake as it dragged down to coax Castiel’s hand open. Castiel’s hands were both shaking, a fine, fine tremble shivering its way down the entire length of his arms, and to unfurl the digits from within the sanctuary of his palm required more discipline of his muscles than he would have ever believed possible. 

Dean’s hand wrapped around his, soft and caring. Castiel didn’t know what to expect, or what Dean was even planning to do, until Dean’s head disappeared from his peripheral vision, and something warm and wet wrapped itself around Castiel’s left index finger.

It wasn’t pain, and it wasn’t pleasure, yet the sensation of lips and tongue upon his skin sent Castiel’s head reeling. He felt Dean’s question push against the bond, and Cas pushed back, nodding eagerly without moving his head, and Dean moved on to the next finger.

He took his time, kissing each fingertip gently, mouthing down to swipe his tongue in between each digit before sliding his mouth over to Castiel’s thumb, grazing his teeth over the soft webbing between the thumb and index finger. 

Castiel tried his best to remain still, even as Dean moved on to his other hand, but when Dean let his tongue slide a wicked, wet streak up the centre of Castiel’s right palm, he couldn’t help but moan. His breathing became even more strained when Dean’s teeth dragged against his wrist, chasing the racing pulse underneath the skin, moving lower. 

A lick to the inside of his elbow had him mewling in the back of his throat, the muscles in his arms twitching, causing the silver chain to rattle against the headboard. 

He heard Dean chuckle, almost right next to his ear, and it wasn’t until there was actual breath beating against his cheek that he realized exactly how close Dean was, or why that mischievous chuckle suddenly had every single hair on the back of his neck standing on edge

When Dean’s lips closed around the lobe of his ear, Cas almost stopped breathing altogether. Tingles raced down his spine, shooting through his nerves and limbs like stars across the night sky, the room filling up with the unsuppressed rustle of shaking wings.

“I wonder…” Dean purred, and the vibration of his voice travelled through Castiel’s body like a wildfire. “How that little spot of yours feels now…? You know… The one. Right. Here.”

Castiel only managed to produce some sort of unintelligent noise when Dean dipped his head and latched onto the spot just below Castiel’s ear, suckling hard. A choked ‘oh’ was all his brain could come up with that could even be counted as a proper sound, and so he clung to it, using it to ground himself while Dean continued his assault upon his neck.

Dean shifted his weight, pushing himself back, and as he pulled back to move further down the mattress, so did his mouth on Castiel’s body. Down, down, down. Sliding along Castiel’s neck and jugular, down to flutter kisses over his collarbones, tongue dipping into the little creases of his clavicle while Castiel struggled to keep his breathing steady – that same, helpless little ‘oh’ spilling over his lips faster and faster the further down Dean went.

Castiel was so concentrated on the touch of Dean’s lips that when Dean gently slid the tip of his fingers down Cas’s ribs, it was enough to make him physically jolt. His wings beat – or attempted to – once, Castiel’s half lidded gaze darting between the two spots on his skin where Dean was now touching him, unable to decide whether he wanted to push against the touch or shy away from it. 

The original, sharp sensation that had come with the cuffs had dulled somewhat, but it was still enough to make him feel overly sensitized. Dean’s mouth and lips were naturally soft and pliant, but his hands were rough; still sharp and acutely raspy against Castiel’s skin. A sort of pleasure-pain that made everything Castiel thought he’d known about human, sexual stimuli haul itself straight out the nearest window. 

As Castiel watched, Dean let his hand trail up Castiel’s chest, much like he had before, only much, much slower. Castiel could feel the heat of it like a burning tide as it moved over him, rolling through his senses and drowning out his mind. 

Then Dean’s fingers were rubbing over the tip of his left nipple, and Castiel went taut as a bowstring, the air catching in his throat.

“S—Stop…!” he choked. “Wait, Dean, don’t— Don’t touch, don’t—“

“What was that?” Dean smirked teasingly. “You want me to _stop?_ ”

“You have to— My skin, I can’t—  _ Dean, please… _ “ 

“Aww, I see,” Dean cooed, teasing understanding dripping off his tongue. “Hands are still too rough for you.” The fingers withdrew, and Castiel had just about enough time to drag down a shaky gulp of a breath into his lungs before something smoother, wetter, and  _ hotter  _ flared out across the other side of his chest, laving at his right nipple and sending every single one of his feathers into rigid attention. 

_ There, _ Dean hummed through the bond, suckling at the nub in between his lips.  _ Much better, right? You like it when I use my tongue on your chest, don’t you? _

Castiel smothered the sound he made against the muscle of his bicep, nodding breathlessly. 

_ I take it that means you don’t want me to stop anymore, huh? _

Castiel nodded, then shook his head, not sure which would be interpreted as the correct answer, his mouth open and jaw slack against his arm. 

_ I’m gonna need you to be bit more clearer than that, babe, _ Dean chuckled. Castiel’s breath hitched when Dean turned his attention to Castiel’s half of the bond, which was glowing and pulsing hot, like a fever.

_ Now, if you really wanted me to stop _ , Dean mused, adding a little tug of teeth to the skin between his lips, causing the bond to flare even brighter.  _ Then I don’t think the bond would feel and look like that. Judging by  _ this _ , I’d say you’re having yourself a pretty good time.  _

Castiel tried to answer, grappling for the edge of the link with a mind that was practically trembling from Dean’s continued assault on his chest, but he missed, his pleasured haze making it impossible to catch.

_ But I don’t want to jump to conclusions here _ , Dean added smugly.  _ So I really,  _ really  _ need you to focus for me. Tell me if I should stop. Is that what you want? _

“No…!” Cas whimpered, pushing his chest up higher when Dean’s mouth teasingly began to pull back and away. “Want your mouth…”

_ Yeah, I know,  _ Dean smirked.  _ I love how greedy you are for my mouth on you. Doesn’t really matter where I put it, does it? You’re always aching for it… My lips and my tongue, even my teeth. Kissing you…  _ Licking  _ you…  _

Castiel nodded again, the skin of his bicep hot and moist with the rapid beats of his own breath.

_ Do you want me to suck you off, babe? Do you want my mouth on your cock? _

Another sound, high pitched and wounded, clawed itself out of Castiel’s throat, his entire being yelling out the ‘yes’ his vocal chords couldn’t form. Dean instantly pulled away, leaving Castiel panting in the middle of the bed, his chest heaving with the effort of gulping air down his lungs. Dean’s eyes trailed down Castiel’s body, the sinful glint of them feeling like hands dragging across his skin, and when his gaze came to a stop at Castiel’s erection his lips pulled up into an evil grin.

“Yeah, you’re all wet and leaky already,” he smiled. A devil’s smile. 

“It’s like your body is begging to be touched, if only just a little.” He glanced back up at Castiel from the corner of his eye. “And since my hands are still too rough…” 

Dean licked his lips and threw his leg over the top of Castiel’s thigh, straddling it. He looked up at Castiel again, lowering his head down as he dragged the tips of his fingers up the top of the other man’s hips in feathery touches. His mouth opened, the subtle peek of a tongue lavishing the lower lip, and in his chest, Castiel felt his heart give a beat hard enough to cause bruises to the inside of his ribcage. He held his breath as he watched Dean’s mouth come closer, felt the heat of Dean’s breath beat against the flushed skin of his cock, the wet gleam of those full lips hypnotizing.

“Hold on a minute,” Dean said, suddenly sitting back up, leaving Castiel twitching in the wake of a mouth that wasn’t there anymore. “We almost forgot about your wings.”

Castiel gritted his teeth, attempting to bite back a groan of frustration, only to have it come out like a pained sob.

“You’re insufferable,” he whined, attempting a glare in Dean’s direction when Dean got off his leg to stretch out on the bed next to his hip.

“I know,” Dean grinned. “That’s why you love me so much.”

He rolled over on his stomach, propping himself up on his elbows to look out across the impressive stretch of Castiel’s wing, chin cradled in his hands.

“It’s been a while since I saw these now,” he murmured, reaching out to run a finger along one of the primary feathers splayed out closest to him. Castiel tensed, fingers curling into the palm of his hands again as the electrical surge from before sparked up through the rachis and up into the rest of the wing. He managed to keep his moan at bay, not wanting to give Dean the satisfaction of hearing him break again quite yet.

“We haven’t had the time,” he grated out, once he trusted his voice again, and Dean hummed an affirmative

“Yeah, there’s been a lot going on lately,” he agreed. “I’ve missed them, though. Especially these,” he added, the tip of his finger reaching up to caress one of the tiny, white speckles on the inner coverts of Castiel’s wing.  

“They look a bit like stars,” he said, almost thoughtfully, as if his action had not just caused Castiel to almost spasm right out of his skin. “I don’t think I’ve told you that before… but it was the first thing I thought about when I saw them, after they changed. That, and how much I wanted to touch and kiss each and every one of them…”

Castiel moaned before Dean had even finished the sentence, the thoughts inside Dean’s head having already revealed what he was about to be exposed to. When Dean’s first kiss landed on the white spot closest to him, he had to close his eyes, because there was no way he would be able to watch Dean do that to him. Not now, not like this.

Each touch of lips was like a spark igniting a fire that spread throughout his wings, flames jumping from spot to spot where Dean pressed that wicked, evil mouth against their white speckled pattern. At first, Castiel tried to bite the inside of his cheeks, stifling the whimpers in the back of his throat, but that mission failed in less than ten kisses. He struggled to keep the wing still, not wanting to hurt Dean by accident, but even with all that effort, Dean still had to use his hands to hold him down fully once Cas began to writhe on the bed, panting and gasping broken words and syllables to the ceiling. 

“You know, I honestly think there’s more of these spots now than there was before,” Dean grinned gleefully, and Castiel groaned, not even trying to answer.

“I wonder if it’s the same on the other side?”

Castiel’s eyes flared open, staring up at the white plastered ceiling.

Other side.

_ Wings.  _

He had  _ two  _ wings.

_ Oh, no. _

Gulping, he watched Dean climb over his body to settle down on the other side. This time, he made a big show of picking out the first spot to kiss, and by the time he finally made his choice, Castiel’s feathers were shaking from the anticipation so badly they were visibly vibrating.

He had no idea if the noises he was making were loud enough to be heard, had Dean not applied the silence spell on their room; all he knew was that he was eternally grateful that Dean  _ had _ , because controlling his voice was something Castiel would soon be officially incapable of doing.

“You know…” Dean whispered, mouthing lightly down the length of a speckled feather, acting as if he didn’t see the way Castiel was clamping down on his lower lip with his teeth, breathing rapidly through his nose in a final, valiant attempt to keep his vocal cords at bay. “I used to miss your old wings at first.” 

Castiel shook, fingers clasping hard around the chain holding the cuffs together.

“Like, they had this cool, shimmering thing going on with all the colors and stuff,” Dean continued, smoothing down one of the big primary wings with the palm of his hand. “But thinking back on them now, it’s like… you know, like they only looked like that because they hadn’t actually decided what to look like yet.”

Fingers pinched around the tip of the feather, twisting it slightly, and Castiel tipped his head back with a wounded groan, pushing the side of his face into his pillow.

“I like this color better,” Dean confessed. “It looks more like you.  _ Feels  _ more like you. This blue streak, right here.”

Dean twisted the feather in his hand again, turning it the other way. Castiel knew that Dean was drinking in the color of his wings, watching the subtle shift of their hue in the light from the lamps around them with those sharp, attentive eyes of his. Dean had taken his time to explore Castiel’s wings before, of course he had, and by now, he knew perfectly well how hard he could pull, tug or twist the feathers to stay on that right side of rough that made Castiel go all weak in the knees. 

“Fuck, they’re beautiful…” he heard Dean whisper. “All of you is so fucking beautiful.”

Castiel arched with a gasp when Dean’s mouth found its way back to his chest, accompanied by the scorching touch of fingertips, sliding hard over the surface of his feathers. Dean was saying other things, altering between murmuring praise against his skin and into the delicate downs at the inside of his wings, but Castiel didn’t possess enough clarity of mind to register them properly. Hands suddenly felt as if they were all over at once, rendering Castiel a pleading, shivering mess while his own blunt fingernails clawed at the unyielding metal of the headboard.

“Dean, please,” he whimpered, the desperation causing his voice to crack. “Please, no more…”

“You sure?” Dean drawled, hands slowing, but not stopping completely, and Castiel nearly wailed as he shoved the sentiment through the bond.

_ Yes! _

Dean laughed, but sat up, much to Castiel’s relief, leaning back on his heels. 

“You do realize I’m not finished with you yet?” he smirked, and Castiel squinted his eyes open to send him a halfhearted glare.

_ I never would have guessed _ , he muttered through the bond, still not trusting his voice enough to deliver sarcasm convincingly.

Dean’s only response was another chuckle, and then Castiel felt a nudge through the bond, prodding gently at the his side of his rib.

_ I’m gonna need you to turn over, babe. Fold yourself up a little. _

Castiel grunted, but did as he was told. His wings felt virtually drained as he curled them against his body, bracing himself on his elbows to twist around. He barely resisted the urge to clip Dean across the back of the head with his left wing when it passed, but then he remembered that in his current condition, that plan might backfire horribly, so he let the moment slip.

Getting on his stomach was a bit of an inconvenience, both because of the fact that Castiel’s cock was still hard, and that the rough drag of sheets against that part of him made him want to do nothing but grind down against the mattress until he came, rough and messy all over the bed.

He managed to contain himself, even if it was just barely, and he sank his head back down onto the pillow when he heard Dean get up and off the bed, relishing in his brief moment of peace. There was a rustle heard when Dean grabbed a bottle of beer from the ice bucket, wringing the cap off. The noise was followed by the faint sound of liquid sloshing when Dean brought the bottle to his mouth, drinking, and Castiel heard the sound of his footsteps as he walked back to the bed. 

“Here.” Dean offered him the bottle, and Castiel drank while Dean held the bottle up for him. The beer was cold, and it soothed Castiel’s throat as it went down, pooling in his stomach. Dean looked at him, eyes intently focused on the spot where Castiel’s lips wrapped around the glass container, and when Castiel pulled off with a low exhale, Dean licked his lips, as if he had just seen something he’d very much like to have a taste of.

Dean moved back, the mattress dipped, and Castiel let out a sharp hiss when something icy cold and wet dripped down onto his back.

“Oops,” Dean said, grinning – Castiel didn’t need to see his face to know that. “Looks like the ice left the bottle a bit wet.”

Another dribble of condensation splattered up Castiel’s spine, hitting his wings and sending a shiver through them that caused the ridges to puff up with discontentment. Castiel huffed, grimacing at the cold, when suddenly an overwhelming sense of intent that wasn’t his own flashed through the bond.

_ Don’t move. _

“What?” Castiel asked, twisting around to look when Dean climbed off the bed again. “Why not?”

Dean didn’t answer. He did, however, stalk right back over to the ice bucket and stick his hand down, retrieving an ice cube roughly the size of Castiel’s thumb. 

_ Really _ ? Castiel asked, giving Dean the mental equivalent of an eyeroll.

_ C’mon, _ Dean coaxed, _ it’ll be fun. _

_ I’m aware. Only question is, for whom? _

“Don’t be such a killjoy,” Dean berated with a snort, taking another sip of the beer before setting it down onto the table once more. “People do this all the time,” he assured him, climbing back into bed, ice cube in hand. “It's sexy.”

“It's  _ cold _ ,” Castiel muttered.

“That's sort of the point, you know,” Dean chuckled.

“I still don't see how a piece of frozen water could possib—”

His sentence ended in a string of garbled, hissing noises as his back first arched, and then fell down, body squirming.

Dean, who apparently found Castiel's reaction to be highly fascinating, repeated his action, and slid the ice cube down the back of Castiel's wings for a second time.

“Now that's an interesting effect,” Castiel heard him say, sounding close to awestruck. The pulse of fascination that went through the bond at the same time had Castiel craning his neck back, twisting around to see what the hell Dean was talking about. 

His feathers of his aula were all puffed up and fluffy, instinctively reacting to the cold of the ice, but the very tips of the feathers, which had been pitch black moments before, were all now an inky shade of cobalt blue.

Another drag of ice to his other wing made Castiel gasp and whip his head around, but this time he actually got to  _ see  _ the color of himself shift in the ice’s wake.

Dean reached out, placed his hand gently on the feathers and smoothed them down. The warmth of his skin felt comforting against Castiel’s wing, and when he removed it, the feathers were all black again.

“Dude,” he chuckled, looking back at Cas with gleaming eyes. “You're like a freaking mood ring.”

He turned his attention back to the wing in front of him, pursing his lips as he began to move the ice in quick drags across its surface, making Cas breath turn rapid and shallow. 

“Dean…. Was… Here,” he recited proudly, and Castiel released a shaky breath when he felt Dean finish the last word with a flourish of his hand.

“Would you look at that,” Dean mused. “My very own celestial blackboard.”

Castiel shivered, his wings rustling with the movement. He had been wrong about the ice, which was surprising. Normally cold and heat didn't bother him, the grace normally wrapped around his body providing him with excellent neutrality to such elemental factors unless he didn't want it to. Now, that barrier was gone, with no means for him to resurrect it until Dean saw it fit. 

Castiel shifted, stifling a groan when his erection rubbed against the sheets as he did so. It wasn't that the ice was unpleasant. Compared to the fire Dean had lit before, the ice was almost soothing, but along with the effect from the cuffs… Castiel honestly wasn't sure about how much he'd be able to take without losing what was left of his composure completely.

Behind his back, Dean had gone back to studying his new, almost-human canvas, with what Castiel would call an unhealthy amount of fascination.

“Let’s see, what else could we write…? How about…?”

He started dragging the ice, droplets of melting water running down the surface of Castiel’s wing, leaving flashing streaks of blue in their wake.

“M… I… N… E…” he spelled out, and Castiel let out a relieved sigh. ‘Mine’. That was a good word. A  _ short _ , good word.

“Oh, I know just the thing to write on this other one, hold on. What do you think of ‘Property of Dean Winchester’?”

Castiel tensed. 

Those were not short words. 

Not  _ nearly  _ close to short enough words.

“P… R… O… P…” Dean started, Castiel’s as yet untouched wing twitching when it met with the icy cold in Dean’s hand. “P… E— Wait hold on, there’s only one ‘p’ in there, ain’t it?”

Castiel gritted his teeth, fingers curling around the chains of the cuffs when Dean erased his mistake and continued to write. He was doing it on purpose, Castiel was well aware of that, even without the tell-tale gleam from the bond inside his head.

“O… F… D… E…”

Castiel was squirming. His hips were moving without his consent, rubbing and pushing into the mattress, sending shivers up his spine. He barely managed to keep the rest of him steady, but the longer Dean’s scribbles took, the harder it got. By the time Dean started on his last name, Castiel was shaking so hard the tremors sent his wings rattling.

“Hey, hold still,” Dean scolded, grabbing hold around the base of the wing. “You’re screwing up my letters. And if you do that,” he added, voice dripping honey. “I’m just gonna have to start over, won’t I?”

Castiel groaned, but nodded, and in return Dean rubbed the base of his wings soothingly, sliding his hands to card through the soft downs of his scapular feathers.

In between one breath and another, Castiel’s brain shattered. His breath caught in his throat, his jaw going slack against the pillow and he couldn’t breathe,  _ he couldn’t breathe _ …!

“No…!” he choked, fingers clawing at nothing but air. “Dean! Dean please, no, not there, not—” 

Dean’s hands left him abruptly, and Cas fell back down, body lax.

“What did I do?” Dean asked sharply as the shock that flared through the bond made both his soul and voice tremble. “Cas, did I hurt you? What happened, are you okay?”

Castiel managed a nod, still panting open mouthed and heavy into the pillow.

“I forgot—” he breathed, swallowing down a groan and a shiver. “It’s been so long, I didn’t—”

“Forgot about what?” Dean asked, the worry in his voice now replaced by confusion. Castiel closed his eyes, taking a deep breath.

“Put your hand back…” he mumbled. He could feel the pensiveness through the bond when Dean gingerly placed his hand back at the base of Castiel’s right wing, and the touch made him shudder.

“Lower,” Castiel gulped. “Gently.”

Dean did as he was told, and when he reached the spot, Castiel gasped, his wing beating once in an uncontrolled spasm. Dean hesitated, but then he prodded the spot again, the walnut sized nub at the base of the wing hard beneath his touch.

“What is that?” he whispered, and Castiel swallowed hard, clearing his throat to remove the squawk that threatened to clog it when he opened his mouth to speak.

“Oil glands,” he grated.

“What?” Dean frowned. “I’ve never noticed them before. Are they new?”

“Physically, yes,” Castiel answered. “Technically… no.”

“Dude, I don’t follow. Are they supposed to be there? You’re not sick or anything are you?”

Castiel groaned, smothering Dean’s growing concern with an insistent nudge through the bond.

“These wings are a manifestation of my grace,” he started throatily, figuring he might as well take it from the top. “You know this already. But even if they’re corporeal, they still need a constant flow of grace to maintain their physical form. Birds do the same, using oil glands placed by their tail feathers, but seeing as I don’t have those, the glands needed to be placed elsewhere; their current spot seemingly most suitable.”

He sighed, rubbing his forehead against the pillow.

“I suppose the correct term for them would be grace glands, rather than oil, but I assume you get the picture.”

“Sort of,” Dean admitted, his fingers twitching against Castiel’s skin. “But how come I haven’t noticed them before? Your old wings didn’t have these, I know that much.”

“The first time I manifested my wings in front of you, my grace had basically been depleted. What little I had, I needed to keep in order to keep my body from being torn apart, and the rest I could administer onto the wings from the inside. Call it a necessary rerouting, if you wish. It felt unnecessary, however, to manifest something that would only drain me more and also wasn’t of any use at the time. Besides,” he added. “My old wings were smaller than these are now, and easier to maintain. Adding oil glands felt… pretentious, if that makes sense?

“Huh…” 

Dean reached out and ghosted the pad of his finger against the gland again, making Cas shiver.

“Do they hurt?” he asked.

“No.” Cas took a shaky breath. “Quite the opposite, actually…”

The bond, which had been quiet during Castiel’s explanation, suddenly lit up again, curious and excited. Dean’s fingers added a bit more pressure, the slow drag of a thumb joining the digit already brushing against the gland. Castiel gave a stifled cry along with a short, warning tug at the link, and Dean halted himself.

“Dean… These glands excrete pure grace,” Cas said slowly. “Your bond with me makes you able to touch and see them, but you might find the sensation of doing so… difficult.”

“What do you mean?” Dean asked, and a hasty image of seared out eyes flashed through the bond, a memory from Dean’s mind. Castiel did not blame him for the turmoil of emotions that flowed through along with it.

“You remember what it felt like, to have grace rushing through your body?” Castiel said, sending back an image of the two of them, backed up against the door of the Impala on some godforsaken reststop, the scent of fresh rain and the sound of rapid, desperate breathing filling up the air. 

“Something like that,” he explained. “You probably won’t be able to—”

“Are you telling me it’s like an aphrodisiac?” Dean cut him off, and Castiel hesitated as the sudden stir of lust that rippled through the bond made him stutter.

“Yes,” he decided simply.

“Well, fuck…”

Dean chuckled, and the hand not positioned around the grace gland came down to rub soothingly over Castiel's lower back. 

“I'm gonna go out on a limb here and guess that this is all new to you too?”

“Very,” Castiel agreed.

“Then I'll go slow,” Dean promised, and added,  _ Keep talking to me _ .

Castiel nodded, both physically and mentally, to show that he understood. 

“Remember to breathe,” Dean said softly, and Castiel nodded again, his breath hitching when he felt Dean move to straddle his back. The touch of denim on skin was rough, but didn’t cause a near-seizure like last time – the weight of Dean’s body was both comforting and exciting all at once. He gasped when Dean’s hands moved, steady and assuring against him, and when the first press of fingers closed around his gland, Castiel buried a strangled moan into his pillow.

He could sense Dean’s reaction through the bond; the surprise, the eagerness, the desire to do things  _ right _ . He could feel the grace pour out of his physical form, forced through the barrier Castiel himself could not break due to the cuffs around his wrist. Through Dean’s eyes, he saw it; not liquid, not solid, not smoke, but  _ grace _ . Pure and bright like the centre of a star as it wound itself between human fingers, coating Dean’s palms in its glow.

“Shit…” Dean’s voice came out breathless, and the hand not caressing the gland came up to grab around the frame of the other wing as Dean steadied himself. “Man, that’s some heavy stuff.”

“Dean…” Castiel whimpered, body writhing, and the hot pulse of lust that he had been trying to keep at bay burst through to Dean’s mind, making the human’s fingers curl even tighter around Castiel’s feathers. 

“I’m on it,” Dean promised, somewhat breathlessly. “I’m on it. Fuck…”

Dean shifted, and Castiel arched his back, pushing his shoulders up and into Dean's hands as they both came down to rub against both wings. Massaging, rolling and pressing, the touch from Dean's hands had Castiel simultaneously melting into and jolting off the mattress in close to no time at all. Castiel could feel the glands pulse, sending grace flowing down his wings, dripping onto his skin and floating through his feathers; liquid lightning and solid thunder barely contained within its very essence.

Dean dragged his fingers through it, pinched it between his fingers, prodding and investigating, and Castiel wasn't sure which was driving him towards the edge the most; Dean's hands on his wings or Dean's hands in his grace. 

Dean, it seemed, wasn't able to decide either. His movements became increasingly twitchy, fingers skidding along with the rapidly increasing sound of Castiel’s breathing. The thighs on either side of Castiel's ribs had begun to squeeze, Dean's hips pushing Castiel's own further into the mattress, unconsciously setting a rhythm for the both of them. 

The sheets underneath Castiel's body were wet, he was leaking so much. His head was searing as the bond filled up with so much pleasure and desire it made him incapable of even thinking clearly. Dean was slowly losing his self-control, and Cas could feel the discipline of his movements falter as Dean began to seriously grind down against Castiel’s lower back.

_ Fuck, Cas…  _ Even inside his head, Dean's voice sounded wrecked, strung out and breathy.  _ Does it feel good for you too? Am I making it good for you, babe? _

Castiel couldn't find any words to answer. He simply settled with sending his own sense of touch and emotions on a loop through the bond, making Dean's hips stutter to a stop the moment they hit home.

_ Holy fuck… Oh, shit, hold on, I wanna try something… _

The hands left Castiel’s body, and seconds later Castiel heard the sound of Dean’s zipper coming undone, Dean’s relief punching through the bond as he inched the garment down along with his boxers. Then the hands returned, clamping down around the outer edges of Castiel’s wings and pulled, pushing the two limbs together at the centre of Castiel’s back.

“Oh, yeah, this is awesome…” Dean groaned, and Castiel had to stop himself from crying out when he felt the hard jut of Dean’s cock rub against the grace glands in between his shoulder blades.  _ Oh. _

Dean set a pace, and it was fast and hurried, hips working back and forth, rocking them both until Castiel was whimpering and babbling, the stimuli of both wings and sheets rendering him completely incoherent as it turned the grip he held on the bond inside his head molten with each intoxicating thrust. He was going to come unless Dean stopped what he was doing. He didn’t want completion from a hotel bed, he wanted Dean, wanted to feel him  _ properly _ , taking him apart from the inside out, but he was getting  _ too close. _

He couldn’t speak, his throat or brain not capable of forming the words, and so again the only choice he had was to shove his state into the link between them. Dean’s fingers curled around him, fisting his feathers greedily when it came through the other side.

“I know, babe, I know,” he panted, thrusting forward with a low grunt. “I’ll get to it, just let me… take the edge off… so I can fuck you properly…”

Castiel whined, fighting to keep his hips still, to ground himself in the feeling of his teeth biting down on his lower lip. Inside his head, images from Dean’s mind came bleeding through; the sight of Dean holding his wings together, creating friction for his cock to slide against, hard and heavy, the shine of grace coating the flushed skin. Castiel saw it twitch, heard Dean curse, and he shoved the image away with a gasp, boarding the bond up because he couldn’t watch that, not for a second longer, or it would be his undoing.

_ Dean…! _

_ I’m there… Fuck, I’m right there, Cas… Your wings feel so good. So soft and slick around my cock… Cas, oh,  _ Cas…!

Cas arched, pushing back up and into the palms of Dean’s hands when they tightened around him. Gasping, he felt Dean use his wings as support while the human rode out the orgasm against the base of the Castiel’s wings and back. 

Castiel could feel the wet heat that was not his grace seep into his feathers, but the sensation did the exact opposite of quenching the fire roaring inside his body. He wanted Dean, wanted him so much he ached, and he bucked his hips, groaning in frustration when Dean only let out a dazed chuckle, not moving an inch.

“Would you at least let me come down first?” he asked, still chuckling. “I know you’re impatient, but I’m still seeing double here.”

“Impatient is an understatement,” Castiel growled, glaring over his shoulder, to which Dean only hummed, coming down on all fours over Castiel’s back.

“Watch yourself,” he purred against Castiel’s ear. “Or I’ll have you beg for it before I do anything else.”

Castiel bit his lip, goose bumps creeping down his neck and shoulders from the words alone. 

_ See? _ Dean mused.  _ The thought even turns you on, doesn’t it? Maybe you  _ want  _ me to make you beg, huh?  _

Castiel’s breath hitched, hips pushing down. The thought was tempting; almost  _ too  _ tempting, but he wouldn’t be able to handle it. Just the thought of going through more of Dean’s sinister torture was enough to have the wave build underneath him once more, and he didn’t want to end it like that. 

“No…” he whispered. “No, I want you. All of you.”

Dean hummed again, sounding pleased with his answer, and the muscles in Castiel’s body curled tight when Dean’s lips fluttered slow, teasing kisses down his neck and shoulder.

“What’s the magic word?” he teased, and Castiel winced.

_ Please.  _ Please _ , Dean. _

He whimpered when teeth grazed against his shoulder blade, just enough to make Castiel’s thoughts lose their coherence, and then Dean’s weight disappeared from Castiel’s back when Dean climbed off.

“Get on your knees, angel.”

Castiel obliged, using the cuffs as leverage as he crawled up on all fours, legs already trembling. Dean waited until he had found his balance before he slotted up behind him, gripping around Castiel's hips with both hands. 

“So…” Dean drawled. “I had planned to use this new, warming lube I found to open you up real nice and slow. I figured it could be entertaining. But now…” Dean’s right hand ran up Castiel’s side and up to his back, fingers dragging through the slick mess trailing down his spine. 

“Thanks to you, I think I’ve found something much, much better.”

Castiel arched when Dean ran his hand up through his feathers, getting his fingers slick and wet, and he hung his head down between his shoulders, stifling a moan. He wanted to say that he didn’t care, that all he wanted was for Dean to open him up and get inside him already, but he couldn’t do that. For Dean to use his grace for such a purpose… Even if his mind hadn't already been blown wide open from Dean’s previous ministrations, that thought alone surely would have gotten the job done.

“This must make you feel pretty kinky, am I right?” Dean asked, amusement clear in his voice as if he had read Castiel’s mind – which, when Castiel thought about it, probably wasn’t too far from the truth. 

“An angel, allowing himself to be bound and fucked open by a human, using his own grace as lube, nonetheless…”

Castiel hissed when Dean gave one of the glands a quick squeeze, gathering more grace into his palm.

“Does it make you feel dirty?” Dean growled, tightening his grip possessively around the hip in his other hand. “Spreading yourself open for me?”

“Only for you,” Castiel groaned. “Only yours…”

_ Fuck, babe, you know I love it when you talk like that,  _ Dean shivered, and Castiel pushed his body back.

_ Please, Dean, _ he pleaded.  _ I want you inside me so badly…  _

Fingers, slick and warm, pushed in against him, and Castiel gasped as his own fingers grappled for the headboard of the bed. The first digit found its way inside him without resistance, and the fire that raced up Castiel’s spine when Dean began to move it in and out was enough to make his body slump forward and down onto the mattress.

“So pretty for me,” Dean praised. “And all mine.”

“All yours,” Castiel echoed, rocking back eagerly.

“Can’t wait to get inside you.” Dean murmured, a second finger already prodding the furled edges of Castiel’s entrance. 

“I’ll make you feel so good, Cas. Gonna fill you up and fuck you so good…”

“Yes… Oh, yes, please…”

Castiel shoved his hips back even further, pressing his forehead against the sheets with a whimper when the second finger breached him.

Oh, how he wanted him inside. It had been too long already, several days since they even touched each other physically, and now this outdrawn onslaught of torture on top of that. He needed Dean, needed him closer, tighter, warmer. Dean... Oh, Dean,  _ Dean...! _

“You know, I’m still hard,” Dean confided from behind him, making the edges of Castiel’s wings flare out. “I never even went soft after I came. That grace oil really is amazing.”

Castiel yelped when Dean’s lips came down to mouth at his lower back, fingers thrusting in deeper.

“Maybe we should bottle some, huh?” he murmured. “Keep it around. We could have so much fun with it, Cas, just imagine.”

Yeah, Castiel could imagine. He could imagine many, many things that could be done using his grace, and he suspected that Dean already had a few more ideas that even Castiel himself hadn’t even thought of yet. Such wonderful, wicked things… 

Three fingers now, and Castiel’s nails dug into the palm of his hands. Three fingers would be enough, he knew that. It would be tight, and maybe burn a little, but it would be enough, and he couldn’t stand to wait much longer.

“Dean,” he whimpered. “Dean, enough… Please,  _ please _ , enough already.”

“Yeah, you sound like you’re about ready to go,” Dean gloated, and Castiel’s legs twitched when Dean removed his fingers from inside him, getting of the bed.

Castiel could see, albeit upside down, how Dean walked over to the table with the ice bucket and snatched a few wet wipes from a box there, and he couldn’t help but feel a little bit smug. Castiel usually used his grace to clean up unwelcome substances after and during sex, since he could and since it saved them time for other, more interesting activities, but it was a luxury Dean had gotten a bit too used to lately. For Dean to resort to wet pieces of cotton to clean himself up now when Castiel couldn’t was a small victory, but a victory nonetheless.

He only had a few moments to enjoy himself though, because once Dean had cleaned himself off, he was back on the bed, smoothing his fingers up the backs of Castiel’s thighs.

“You want me inside you, Cas?” he purred as he brought one of his hands up to gather more slickness from Castiel’s back and coating his erection with it. “You want my cock?”

“Yes,” Cas breathes. “I do.”

“Say it,” Dean hissed, lining himself up with a steady grip around Castiel’s hip. “Say it properly.”

“Fuck me,” Castiel mewled. “Fuck me, Dean, please, fuck me.”

“Oh, I’ll fuck you,” Dean promised, already pressing his cock against Castiel’s hole. “You just make sure to enjoy the ride.”

Finally. That was the only thought that went through Castiel’s head when Dean began to push himself inside. Finally, finally,  _ finally. _

Dean’s name became a litany, spilling over his lips in breathless whispers as Dean set a slow, dirty pace behind him. It was fast enough to make the breath stutter to a stop in Castiel’s chest, but not fast enough to make him come. It was all hands gripping, hips thrusting, a steady pounding against his insides that ignited stars behind his closed eyelids, and it was glorious.

Dean knew exactly which angle to use, and how hard to hit, and he wasn’t holding back. Every thrust was like a nebula bursting through Castiel’s body, colors and lights filling him up until it was the only thing that existed apart from the slow slide of Dean’s cock inside of him.

His own cock was leaking, practically dripping down onto the covers below, swaying in time with their movements, slapping against his stomach. It was the only stimulation he was getting and he realized, as the pleasure pooled and spiked, but never tipped over, that it wasn’t going to be enough.

Dean wasn’t slowing down, but he wasn’t speeding up either. Castiel had no friction from the sheet anymore, and the lack of touch was slowly beginning to become more frustrating than exciting.

He squinted his eyes open, peering up at the chain connecting the cuffs around his wrists. It was too short to allow him to reach anywhere past his own elbows. Even if he shifted his arms, bringing one up higher than the other, he still couldn’t bring his hand any lower than the middle part of his chest.

“Oh, what’s that?” Dean cooed. “You’re missing a little something?”

Cas slumped down on his elbows, despairingly cursing the sinister streak of Dean Winchester under his breath.

“You wanna touch yourself?” Dean asked, underlining the question with a hard thrust against his prostate. “You wanna jerk yourself off while I fuck you?”

“Want… you to touch…” Castiel groaned, the very thought of Dean’s hand on him making his feathers spike. “Want you…!  _ Mad ozien… olani vnig... _ “

Dean paused, astonished surprise sparking through the bond.

_ I heard that, _ he murmured, almost amazed.  _ You want my hands, is that what you said? _

_ You— You understood?  _ Castiel’s eyes went wide, and Dean chuckled.

_ ‘Your hands’, ‘I need’, _ Dean repeated, a smug, amber glow seeping through the link.  _ The bond’s a bit hazy, but I think I got the bottom line of it. _ Dean’s hips snapped forward, making the air catch in Castiel’s throat. 

_ Tell me more _ , he ordered.  _ What else do you want? _

“I— I want…ah!” Castiel cried out, body falling forward when Dean sped up, slamming into him and sending white spots dancing before his vision. “ _ Noib, mtif oi…! Dean _ ,  _ gil ol carbaf de ollog, Dean…!” _

_ Like this? _ Dean growled, shoving himself in even further.  _ You like it when I go deep on you? When I bury my cock inside your ass and make you take all of me at once? _

Castiel nodded, eyes rolling back into his head. 

“ _ Shod… Ol Hoath, ladnah… _ ”

“Oh, I don’t think so,” Dean panted, slowing down to the cruel, slow pace he had from the start. “If I go faster, you’ll just come. I’m having way too much fun to let that happen so soon.”

“No…” Castiel almost sobbed. “ _ Olani ipam ol…  _ Mercy… Please,  _ dlvgar ollog ocaoa… _ ”

“What does that even mean, ‘mercy’, Cas? Should I slow down? Should I  _ stop…? _ ”

“No!” Cas choked. “No, don’t stop, don’t stop, please…”

“You’re saying you want it faster?”

“Yes!”

Castiel’s answer was barely allowed time to spill over his lips before Dean complied, going back to the vicious rhythm that had Castiel’s heart alternating between skipping beats and stopping completely. His cock twitched, drooling precome onto the sheets, and still Castiel wasn’t coming. It wasn’t enough! He needed hands, needed  _ touch _ . Needed something, anything, or he was going to lose his mind.

“This is what you wanted?” Dean demanded, underlining the question with another hard shove of his hips. “How does it feel? Tell me how it feels.”

“ _ Nostoah ial…! _ ” Castiel gasped, wringing the chains in his hands. “ _ Mtif malpirg… mtif coraxo…! Mtif ollor oiveae oi loncho loagaeth oadriax…!” _

“You wanna come, Cas?”

Castiel nodded, jaw slack, chest heaving.

“Wanna come... “ he whimpered. “Wanna come…!”

Next, there were hands on Castiel’s wings, gripping and carding through feathers, pulling them back, making Castiel arch.

_ Gonna fucking make you come, _ Dean growled inside his head, hot and possessive.  _ Gonna make you come all over the fucking bed. _

Castiel was burning up, his mind disappearing in a blizzard of pleasure that froze every thought in place. His grace was in turmoil; so much power, caged up inside his body with nowhere to go, nowhere to bury the climax that was about to swallow him up and devour him.

Castiel had always been in control of his grace; even that first time when he and Dean joined in the bond for the first time, had he been aware enough to hold himself back when his grace wanted to explode across the continent and proclaim its joy to the universe.

Now, that control had been wrenched away from him, locked inside his body with no other way to go, without him being able to hold it back. The only thing currently keeping the grace from burning through both him and the entire state they were in was the two loops of etched silver clasped around his wrists. The thought alone was terrifying, and the closer Dean pushed him towards the edge, the more he realized that he feared what would happen once he went over it.

Castiel was familiar with the concept of rollercoasters, even if he had never been on one himself. Up until that point, he had never really understood why humans enjoyed them so much. To put yourself, willingly, in a place you both enjoyed and feared at the same time had always sounded absurd to him. Now, however, he believed he had come to understand the objective a little bit better. 

But this was not a rollercoaster, nor an amusement park. This was bigger, and far, far more dangerous should something go wrong, yet even though he struggled to stop it, he could feel himself unravel, slowly, like a rope snapping, one strand at a time.

_ Dean…! _

He had to tell him, to warn him about what was about to happen, what  _ might  _ happen. He reached out, clawing at the bond; the only spot of his conscience that burned brighter than the climax singeing the edges of his mind.

_ Dean… Oi qvasahi, I can’t— Oi molvi qvasahi…! _

The pleasure was too much, too big, he couldn’t hold it back. He felt the wave rise; a horrible sensation of drowning beneath a crushing wave of euphoria. Then, Dean was there, weaving calm into his thoughts with the silent brush of his fingers.

_ It’s okay, Cas, I know. Just let go. Trust me. _

Perhaps it was the reassurance of his mind, or maybe the request of Dean’s final words that made him give in, Castiel couldn’t tell. He felt his grace crackle, the borders between his physical body and his celestial one smearing and blurring together in a fraction of a moment, and then he came. 

Voiceless, soundless. Suspended in a void that wasn’t a void, but filled with the light of every star and galaxy to ever live amongst the heavens. Burning with the light of a million suns, his grace flared out, breaching through the barrier, and Castiel felt his wings unfurl from the skin on his back; arching, stretching and curling around physical air for the very first time. 

Six wings.

And all his.

They were large, but not as large as they could have been, the power of the silver cuffs keeping them restricted to the same proportions as his human body as they crackled and sung, filling the air of the room with jubilant sound and electrifying grace. From seemingly miles away, Castiel heard Dean gasp, the bond swelling with surprise and reverence before finally overflowing with the ecstasy of Dean’s second orgasm, wringing the last piece of Castiel’s self restraint from his body.

He came, again; body arching, limbs writhing and muscles spasming as he shook through the climax, burying his slack-jawed scream into the depths of the pillows below. When his air finally ran out, his throat felt raw, his vocal cords aching, but he simply couldn't find any strength to care. 

His legs barely had enough strength left to keep the weight of his body up. He knew that Dean had to still be grasping around his hips to keep him upright, even though every single part of his skin was tingling so much he couldn't pinpoint what was actual physical touch and what was not.

He did feel it when Dean slid out of him, however, and the final, slow drag against his prostate sent his limbs quaking yet again. Unable to hold himself up any longer, he crashed down onto the bed, wincing into the pillow with a voice he barely recognized as his own, feeling the mattress dip when Dean tumbled down next to him.

There was a moment of fiddling, and then Castiel heard Dean mumble something under his breath. With a faint click the handcuffs came undone and Castiel's hands dropped down with two low thuds against the covers.

Castiel groaned and squinted a quick look up at his hands. There was not a mark on them or his wrists, the protective magic of the cuffs having done their job. He pulled the limbs down, dragging his fingers through his hair once, hard, before folding them underneath his head.

He was so lost in the content of his own afterglow that he didn't realize that Dean was still quiet, until he felt a pensive prod against the edge of his consciousness, like a light tap on the shoulder.

He opened his eyes, looking over at Dean from underneath hooded eyelids, and found Dean flat on his back with his eyes staring at a spot right above Castiel's shoulder.

_ What? _ He asked, too tired to form the question with his mouth. Dean's eyes flickered towards him, a quick stupefied little glance before they returned to the same spot again.

_ Are they—? I mean, do they… go away after a while, or…? _

Castiel blinked. Then he blinked again, stretching the muscles of his back slowly, eyes widening when the sound of six feather clad limbs rose over him in response.

“Oh.”

He had forgotten about that.

Rising onto his elbows, he twisted around, looking at the two new sets of wings that had manifested on his back. The top pair was dark, with tips dipped in white. The other two, the ones sitting just below his original pair, were the same metallic shade of iridescent blue that the lower tips of his centre pair were. 

Still looking, he stretched the wings out, testing the feel and weight of them against the air. They didn't weigh that much, of course. Not more than he wanted them to, anyway, but even he had to admit that the sight was pretty impressive. 

Dean, apparently, had the same opinion, if the size of his pupils and the gape of his mouth were of any indication.

“Dude…” he breathed, staring at the wings. He sounded as if he was about to say something more, but nothing came. Instead, Castiel felt a new, longing sensation ripple through the bond, and he smiled, bringing one of the top wings down to his side.

“Go ahead,” he offered. “You don't have to ask.”

Looking as if Castiel has just caught him with his hand in the metaphorical cookie jar, Dean slowly reached his hand out and let his palm slide down the ridge of the black wing.

The action did not provoke the same raw sensation of pleasure as the touch had when he had the handcuffs on, but Castiel trembled nonetheless. It felt nice, like the way a specific tune in a song could make shivers rush down your spine, and Castiel sighed with contentment, allowing his head to fall back down onto the pillow.

Dean continued to pet him, even if Dean himself would never call it that, and Castiel relished in the feeling of fingers combing through never before touched feathers and downs. Once he decided that one wing had received enough attention, he rolled over on his side, stretching another one out for Dean to scrutinise.

“You never told me you had six wings,” Dean mumbled, stroking the tip of his fingers down the primary feathers of the lower left wing that was currently in his grasp.

“I  _ am _ a Seraph, after all,” Castiel answered drowsily. “I assumed you knew.”

“Well, I kind of did know,” Dean muttered, sounding displeased. “I just never… thought about it before, I guess.”

He grumbled something under his breath, the bond throbbing.

“Are you alright?” Castiel asked, tucking his wings in under himself to roll over on his opposite side to face his husband.

“I'm fine,” Dean muttered. “I just feel a headache coming on.”

“That's understandable,” Castiel pointed out soberly. “You've been handling and staring straight at raw grace for almost half an hour. A normal human would have been dead by now.”

“Yeah, thanks for the reminder, Cas.”

“Dean.”

Dean turned his head, squinting at him, and Castiel reached out his hand, stroking it down the side of Dean's face.

“We're bonded, you and I. My grace is no threat to you anymore, not like before when the bond was still new and raw, but it's only  _ my _ grace. If you attempt to look at another angel's grace, in any way or form, you will get hurt, do you understand?”

Dean nodded, insight blooming in the other side of their connection, and Castiel smiled. 

_ I don't want anything to happen to you, beloved. _

_ Geez, Cas,  _ Dean mumbled, the bond turning a faint shade of embarrassed pink.  _ You're such a sap, you know that? _

_ Just promise to be careful. _

_ Yeah, yeah I promise. Seriously, _ he added when Castiel frowned at him.  _ I'll be careful, I swear.  _

_ Good, _ Castiel nodded, wings puffing out with satisfaction.

“So.” Dean cleared his throat, and then he reached down to pinch one of the wings sticking up over Castiel's hip. “Tell me more about these. If you've always had three pairs, how come you've only ever showed me one pair before? Even that first time in the barn, with the shadows, you still only showed me two wings. Why?”

Castiel sighed, rolling his eyes.

“Dean, when was the last time you saw an angel depicted with more than two wings? If I had showed myself to you, or anyone else for that matter, wearing all six from the start, chances were that you would have taken me for some sort of monster rather than a messenger of God.”

Dean bit his lips, seemingly mulling the thought over.

“As for why I haven't manifested all six until now, it’s also rather simple,” Castiel continued. “When I did it the first time, we needed to remain inconspicuous to outsiders, so one pair seemed more than enough. After that, manifesting more would have been merely inconvenient. Manoeuvring one set of wings inside a human household is complicated; doing it with three is near impossible, even if I use my grace to make them go through furniture and walls. They take too much space and effort. Also, doorways become a downright nightmare…”

Dean snorted out a laugh at Castiel's last comment, and a hasty, rather humiliating image of Castiel, stuck in the doorway to Bobby’s study, flashed through the bond.

_ Not flattering, Dean _ , Castiel commented dryly, upon which Dean gave the bond a teasing squeeze.

“I guess that means it would be too hard for you to, you know, manifest all three pairs all the time?” Dean asked, voice sounding merely curious while the bond struggled to remain as indifferent as possible.

Castiel's lips quirked up in a smile.

“I honestly hadn't even considered the thought before. The other two pairs don't really have a use here in the physical world, so I suppose I just forgot about them.”

“How the hell do you ‘forget’ four parts of your own body? That's like me forgetting an arm or some shit,” Dean commented with a snort, but Castiel ignored it.

“To answer your question, I  _ could _ manifest all my wings in the future as well, if that's what you want,” he said simply. “But not for long periods of time. Perhaps, for more intimate moments only?”

Dean's face lit up, and he licked his lips.

“Intimate sounds good enough for me,” he agreed. Wrapping his arm around Castiel's waist, he pulled him in closer, nuzzling against the side of Castiel's neck. “You know, we have the room until tomorrow morning…” he purred. “And I don't know about you, but I'd love to get a bit more hands on with those new limbs of yours before you have to put them away again.”

Castiel chuckled, feathers rustling.

“It  _ is _ nice to let them stretch out a little,” he agreed, demonstrating his point by reaching three of his wings around to wrap around Dean's body, feeling the other man stiffen. 

_ Dude, if you even  _ think  _ about tickling me with those, I'll cuff you to the bed again, _ Dean warned, the sentence coming through the bond with a nervous rattle.

_ I'm appalled by your accusation, Dean, _ Castiel objected proudly.  _ I am a being of dignity and morale, I would never resort to such dirty tricks. _

“Yeah, yeah, you're a proper little angel,” Dean muttered, a smile tugging at the corner of the bond even as he said it. 

“ _ Your _ angel,” Castiel pointed out. “Unless you've changed your mind, of course.”

“Never,” Dean growled against his shoulder, pulling him in tighter. 

Castiel laughed, but wriggled away again, putting a few inches between his and his bond mate's faces so that he could look Dean in the eye before leaning in to press a soft kiss against his lips.

_ Happy anniversary, Dean. And thank you. _

Dean didn't respond right away, but the bond instantly shifted into a bright, pleased green at the words, before slowly morphing into a glowing ember red hue as Dean deepened the kiss, pulling Castiel's wings in tighter around himself.

_ You're welcome, Cas. Happy anniversary. _

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so, so much for reading guys! <3
> 
> This marks the end of this story (unless someone gives me another prompt I can't refuse, of course, but I feel like this truly is the end this time around lol) and I just want to say that I am so, so grateful for the positive response I've been given throughout the course of this fic.  
> I never expected to get these many comments, kudos or even hits, and I don't think I'll ever be able to express how much your support has meant to me. Thank you, all of you, and I hope to see you stick around for future works as well.
> 
> You're more than welcome to [follow me on Tumblr](http://chiyume.tumblr.com) if you want, and for those of you who use it, I'm also on Twitter.
> 
> Until next time, my darlings <3 Take care!

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading guys <3  
> More chapters are on the way, so feel free to stick around for those :)
> 
> If you're part of the Marvel fandom, and ship Stucky (or if you're just curious), I'm also currently writing a fic for that fandom as well, which can be found [**here**](http://archiveofourown.org/works/7122823/chapters/16178296) for those of you who are interested in reading it.
> 
> Lots of things going on at the moment, but just be patient with me and I'll make it worth the wait, I promise ;)


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